


My Own Desert Places

by MemoryDragon



Series: The Ace Detective [1]
Category: DC Animated Universe
Genre: Ace!Bruce Wayne, Ambiguous Relationships, Aphobia, Big Bang Challenge, Coming Out, Drama, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, No Slash, Snowed In, Temporarily Depowered, Unintentional Forced Coming Out, protest fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-24
Updated: 2017-06-24
Packaged: 2018-11-18 11:46:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11290077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MemoryDragon/pseuds/MemoryDragon
Summary: Batman had been making himself scarce since the media storm started, but he shows up for an interstellar mission when no one else could go.  Clark just wishes he knew what to say to fix things, but that can wait until after the mission.Unfortunately unfriendly aliens, crash landings, falling trees, and the freezing cold makes everything much more difficult.  Now Clark can only hope they can stay alive long enough for the rest of the League to find them.  There are worse times to have a heart to heart with his best friend, right?(There is a much worse time.  Figures that's when Bruce would stop avoiding it.)





	My Own Desert Places

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** I do not own the DC Animated Universe, nor do I make any claim to.  
>  **Warnings:** Some mentions of past dub-con/peer-pressured sex, and the media using a lot of aphobic remarks. Some semi-detailed but not gruesome survival medical practices, and the death of an alien chicken for food consumption. Mostly because if I had to look these things up, I might as well use them.  
>  **Thanks:** Many thanks to Nar and Cy for betaing and keeping me sane by telling me that yes, I had a right to be upset. Also thanks to Sere for listening when I was upset, and for Mithen for betaing and general DC knowledge.  
>  **Notes:** I was going through a bit of a rough time a little while ago, and decided to try to find a community/fest, because having other people to talk to and encourage always helps. I'm aro/ace, and was a bit exhausted from writing so much romance in my last fandom. I thought it'd be nice to go back to the start with a new fandom, where I wouldn't have to force a romance if I didn't get that far. I found a big bang fest that looked like it would work for me, as I had an idea I'd put on the back burner a while back for those two characters. The rules said nothing about gen (only relationships, which the relationship was the primary focus for that idea, even if ambiguous on romance), so I sent the mods a message asking if that was okay. Most fests I've been in tend to accept gen, or really any fic so long as it's within the proper fandom and/or characters, so I wasn't expecting a no.
> 
> I was told no. I was told romance was the only thing they accepted, though pre-slash was okay. Pre-slash still implies romance though. When I spoke with the mods directly to clarify, I told them I was aro/ace and uncomfortable with trying to force a romance at the moment. I was told once again, no. It had to be romantic, but I could post during amnesty week with all the late people and no chance to be matched for art, because they were a small fest and always welcomed new people. I was told they had nothing against gen fic, some of them even wrote it from time to time! This was just not the place for it. So I could either force myself to pretend to not be aro because they could sometimes write fic with no romance, or I could give them free advertising by posting with them, but no matter how hard I worked on my fic, it would never be worthy of actually being _part_ of the fest. They were all very polite about it. I just had no space in their little group. 
> 
> I left feeling _broken_. Like if I could only be _normal_ for once, I could have a space there. I had already started writing a bit, but even before the fic was more than three pages, before anyone knew what the plot was, it was denied. 
> 
> Things got worse before they got better, but when I got my head above the water, I knew the fic had to change. I couldn't stop writing it, because then I'd be silenced. I also couldn't keep writing it as it was, because every word hurt. So I kept the plot I had planned from the start, then added Batman being outted as Ace. It was going to add roughly 10k to the word count, but I'd seen so much aphobia recently that it needed a place to go. Every word still hurt, but it now had a reason to. 
> 
> Everything in this fic is paraphrased from actual things I've heard and seen. Some of it would have been word for word, but I didn't feel up to chasing down specific posts. I'm really not up for a debate on those views right now so I ask that you not use this space for "Ace Discourse" or to deny aphobia exists. If you're looking to talk about that, please find somewhere else.
> 
> This fic is to say I'm here. I'm not silent. And because it's no longer for a fest, I could and did add more characters for team feels. Friendship is a valid and _important_ relationship, more important to me than romance ever could be. And friendship is just as deep and meaningful as anything a romantic pairing could be. So there's no romance in this fic, though there's a few ambiguous relationships you're welcome to take however you like. There's no art for the fic, because I wasn't allowed in the group as I was, but the story won't be erased because of that. 
> 
> I'm not broken.

_I have it in me so much nearer home_  
_To scare myself with my own desert places._

-Robert Frost

 

* * *

 

 

It had been two months since Clark had seen Batman. The first month the Bat never stepped out of the shadows at all, though his presence was still felt by the criminals of Gotham. This past month there were brief sightings, but none that Clark had caught. Even with all of Clark's abilities, he had problems locating Batman at night when he didn't want to be found.

Bruce Wayne was easier to find. Bruce Wayne was partying, taking more girls home than ever, even if he only actually slept with two of them, and Wayne Enterprises was pitching a plan to restructure Gotham's power grid to renewable wind and solar energy. His competitors saw it as folly and terrible business acumen. Clark knew it ran deeper than that.

And Clark... was worried.

He flew over Gotham again after yet more research on what the Bat had said. He gave up after a second flyby proved fruitless, knowing he should leave Bruce alone if that was what he wanted. With a sigh, he returned to Metropolis, landing far enough from his apartment that he could walk off some of his excess energy.

That proved to be a mistake. He looked away from the newsstand as the tabloids screamed headlines with words like _INHUMAN_ , _UNNATURAL_ , _ALIEN_ , _FREAK_. The radio was playing a comedian saying "So now he's trying to convince us all that he's _not real_ again like in the early days? He's just going to be hanging out with the bogey man in the closet! Or maybe he felt insecure not being an alien like the rest of-"

"Hey, what the-!" the man running the newsstand said as he came around to check on his suddenly half-melted radio.

Clark looked down at the _Gotham Gazette_ , pretending his eyes weren't still glowing. Even the regular papers were reporting on it again, since the Flash made a public apology to Batman recently in an attempt to convince the man to come back to the Watchtower. Not front page news anymore, but the protests were always hot. Tossing the paper back in disgust, Clark forced himself not to think about what the _Daily Planet_ had nearly printed before both he and Lois threatened to walk. That didn't stop some of their colleagues _talking_ about it, however.

There was an old mahogany desk in the _Planet's_ copy room that Clark still felt guilty over destroying. At least no one had seen him crush the wood with his bare hands.

When he finally got to his apartment, he ignored the TV and went to bed, staring up at the ceiling as he willed himself to sleep. He had a long day ahead of him.

The next day he left work, mentally preparing for the trip he was about to take. He'd studied the notes over the civil war and the treaty that they were supposed to help along, but there was still so much about the culture that Clark had to remember. He let his thoughts drift through proper Clotharian etiquette as he walked out of the _Planet_. He was jerked back to his surroundings by a beautiful woman pulling on his arm. "Uh, miss, I don't think I'm the one you're looking for."

"Oh, I think I know who I'm after," she purred, reaching up to his hair. Clark jolted back, because she _was_ familiar now that he got a better look at her, but she was faster. When she leaned back, he tried not to look like he was panicking as he smoothed back the curl she'd managed to dislodge. She _knew_.

"Relax, hot stuff. I'm not here for you. I'm here to talk about a mutual friend," she said.

"Selina Kyle?" he asked, finally placing her.

"The one and only."

He'd seen her picture in the news when she was on trial. _The Daily Planet_ had run more than a few stories about the notorious Catwoman being unmasked, though he'd been too low-level at the time to get close to the bylines. He let her pull him forward and link her arm in his. "You want to talk about...?"

She frowned softly, then shook her head. "Not here. Somewhere more... private."

She knew his identity and where he worked. Knowing where he lived wouldn't have made much of a difference. "My apartment's not far from here."

"You do move fast," she said, trailing a hand down his chest. "Is it true what they say about speeding bullets?"

"Don't," he said, wincing.

Selina smiled, leading the way to his own apartment without a backward glance. He sighed, following after her.

"Nice place," she said, throwing her coat on his arm chair as if she hadn't already cased the place. Clark knew he had nothing of value that would interest her, but that didn't make him feel any better as her eyes lingered about to find hidden places he put things that were of true value to him. "You afford this on a reporter's salary?"

"What do you want to talk about?" he snapped, tired of the cat and mouse routine. She apparently knew all about him, even if he only had the papers to go on for her.

"He didn't tell me about you," she said, dropping the flirtatious act.

That did ease some of his anger, even if he hadn't realized that had been part of it. Of course Bruce wouldn't have talked. His irritation from that angle was unfounded. "Then how did you find out?"

As far as he knew, Selina still didn't know Bruce's identity, despite all of the proposed history between the Cat and the Bat. So how had she managed to figure out _his_ when he wasn't even in her city?

"You are an incredibly easy mark. Just because I've been waiting on Batman to come clean on his own doesn't make you part of that game," Selina said, not really answering his question.

"You'll be waiting a while," Clark said, shaking his head as he took off his jacket. He obviously needed to be more careful with his identity.

"It'll be worth the wait," she said with a smile. If Clark were given to using clichés, he would have said she was the cat that got the canary. She sobered quickly, however, leaning back against his couch. "He knows we're watching him."

"I figured," Clark said, getting out some glasses. "Do you want something to drink?"

"Can't stay long, actually. And it looks like you've got places to go too," she said, gesturing to the bag he had packed before he left for work that morning.

Clark nodded, filling his own glass with water before sitting opposite of her. "How is he taking it? The watching thing?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," she shrugged. "You know who he is behind the mask?"

"Neither of us were playing games when we first met," Clark said dryly. She raised an eyebrow, and he fought down a flush. One-upmanship and gaining Lois's attention didn't count as a game. "And yes, I do. He's been... not forthcoming in either identity. I've been trying to give him space."

It had been partially his fault, after all. He should have known better than to let the Flash continue that conversation outside of the Watchtower. He knew better than anyone that reporters had an annoying habit of turning up, especially during a Justice League fight.

"Especially after that press conference, I assume?" she said. "The kid means well, I suppose, but I don't think Batman was happy with the public apology."

"He still feels terrible about the whole thing," Clark replied. The Flash had been researching more than Clark had; he'd caught the Flash tearing up while checking the log books. Batman hadn't been back to the Watchtower since the incident. "Do you think I should talk to Batman outside of the suits?"

"Probably for the best," Selina said, then winced. "Just don't make the same mistakes I did when he told me about it."

"He told you?" Clark asked in surprise, feeling a little betrayed. He knew Bruce and Selina were close and had known each other longer than Clark had, but it still hurt to hear that Bruce had told Selina and not him.

"I did actually get him in my bed a few times, cowl and all," Selina said. "He laid out boundaries. But you know what not to ask, right?"

"I've done a lot of research since then for the articles I've been writing following up the fight," Clark agreed. "There's even a few helpful lists on the internet and I've been asking others for personal experiences on that sort of thing. Not saying I won't still make mistakes, but at least I know some of the common pitfalls."

"You're a good reporter, checking his sources," Selina said as she stood and reached for her coat. "Just try talking to him when you get back from wherever. That's all I'm asking, since he's not coming out when I try to call him. I don't think this space he's built around himself is a good thing, for him or the criminal underworld."

"I will," Clark promised, standing to help her into her coat. "Thank you for coming to me."

"He's a difficult man, but he's a good one," Selina said.

"You can say that ag-" Clark started to say as he showed her out, then scanned her. "Can I have my wallet back please? I really don't make a lot on a reporter's salary."

Selina smirked, handing over his wallet with a small wave. "Like I said, an easy mark."

He grabbed his wallet and checked the money, noting that nothing was out of place. When he looked up, she was gone. Shaking his head as he shut the door, he grumbled about Gotham City and her inhabitants' penchant for disappearing without warning.

Then he looked at the clock and groaned. Now he was late.

* * *

"Sorry, GL," he said as he rushed through the Tower security checks. "I had an unexpected visitor and-" As he looked up he stopped.

Green Lantern wasn't there, but Batman was. Clark gaped. For a moment, his only thought was that the Flash would be relieved Batman had finally logged on. "Hi," he said, for lack of a better thing to say.

Bruce stared at him, and Clark fought the urge to fidget. Batman could be unreadable when he wanted to be, and Clark always got the feeling he was being found wanting when it happened.

Then Bruce broke eye contact, turning back to the computer panel he'd been monitoring, and Clark refused to breathe a sigh of relief. "Green Lantern had an emergency to deal with. The others have previous commitments," he said by way of explanation.

While Bruce could be hard to read when he wanted to be, what he was broadcasting now was explicitly clear: 'I'm not here to talk.' He turned, his cape swirling around him ominously as he entered the Javelin.

Clark used his super speed to close the distance. Selina had the right gist of it. Approaching him now would be useless. But... "Batman, if we could... After, I mean. Could we get some coffee? Without the suits. I'd like to talk."

At first, Bruce didn't reply to Clark's admittedly ineloquent request. But Clark was just as stubborn and twice as willing to barrel through no matter what. He waited, because sometimes talking to the Bat required patience. Not his strongest point when it came down to the suits, but he could wait for important things.

"You're not going to let this go, are you?" Bruce asked finally, with a general air of defeat.

Clark smiled brightly, relief flooding through him. "Not really, no."

" _After_ , you can meet me in Gotham," Bruce said, starting to prep the controls.

On his turf, he meant. But that was fine. Clark wanted Bruce to be comfortable. It wasn't an interrogation. "I'll be there," Clark said. It didn't matter what kind of workload Perry gave him, he would _make_ time when he got back.

"Stop grinning like an idiot and start the pre-flight checks," Bruce said.

"Yes, sir."

* * *

Being in space was a strange sensation for Clark. It was always so quiet, and sometimes Clark felt like he could get lost in the feelings of relief that brought. Other times, the lack of sound felt like he was drowning.

For now, the hum of the engines and Bruce's heartbeat filled the void enough, and that soothed him. Bruce was frowning over the controls, but Clark didn't give that too much thought. Bruce had been doing that for the last hour and a half, and when Clark asked, Bruce barely grunted in reply as he ran a fourth diagnostic check.

Clark figured Bruce would tell him when he got something conclusive. He didn't actually mind the lack of conversational partner this trip. They rarely got sent out alone together, since Bruce never liked leaving Gotham for long, but it was nice. Pleasant in a way that Clark couldn't put a finger on, which was annoying considering he worked with words for a living. It felt like it needed a name, at least for Bruce.

He really had missed having Bruce around.

He was about to ask if the ship _really_ needed ten diagnostic checks when Bruce grabbed manual control from the autopilot and veered into a hard left. Clark's hands clenched the armrests, glad for his seatbelt as something hit the right side of the ship.

"What hit us?" he asked, bringing up the star chart. His heart jumped when he looked at the system they were in.

"Who hit us," Bruce corrected with a growl, his fingers gripping the controls. "Whoever they are, they've been jamming us."

Bruce sounded angry, but given the number of diagnostic checks he'd run, Clark was pretty sure that anger was directed inward. So he bit his tongue and braced for another impact instead of snapping back.

"Any way we can make it out of this system before they reach us?" Clark asked, trying to get a lock on whatever was hitting them. It was annoyingly hard to see.

Bruce grunted in reply, pulling the throttle as far back as he could. Trying to flip behind the shooter, Clark realized. "They're too fast," he muttered.

The non-answer was just as good as a vocal one with Bruce. Clark clenched his teeth and tried everything he knew to get the computer to lock on. He tried the back camera, only to have it be frustratingly blank as the ship rocked again.

Undoing his seatbelt so he could try something with the wires, he heard Bruce growl his name. "I'll be careful," Clark said absently, using his feet to brace himself as he opened the panel. Clark wasn't a mechanical genius like Bruce, but he did have his own spaceship which he mostly did his own repairs for, and Bruce had based the Javelin on some of the Kryptonian technology he was able to reverse engineer. The wires were daunting, but nothing Clark couldn't handle.

"Brace yourself," Bruce warned, and Clark had just enough time to hold on to the sides before he would have been chucked across the cockpit. "Snow planet ahead. It might be our only chance."

Clark winced. He didn't want to think about a snow planet in this particular system. Splitting some of the wires and reconnected them, he pushed the thought of what would happen aside. Clark made a few quick fixes and pulled himself out as he tried the back cameras again. This time, it flickered to life. "It's small," Clark said as Bruce outmaneuvered another attack.

Bruce quickly glanced over, then banked right. "Not set up for planetary re-entry. I doubt she could follow us down."

He hated how calm Bruce sounded. It pricked at Clark's temper, like it didn't bother Bruce that this planet would be a special kind of hell for Clark. "Take us down then," Clark said, his hands curling into fists.

He had barely strapped in again when another blow sent them spiraling off course. As Bruce struggled with the control of the Javelin, Clark tried vainly to come up with a plan out of this. "I could go out and-"

"Don't you _dare_ ," Bruce growled.

So Bruce was aware of what kind of star system they were in. Clark should have known it wouldn't have escaped his notice. "It usually takes a while before the light kicks in," Clark said.

Bruce twisted the controls, snapping Clark back in his chair. He wasn't sure if that was to dodge a missile or to shut Clark up. He sighed. Bruce was probably right. That didn't mean he was any less annoyed by the condescending non-verbal cue.

They were nearly to the planet now, and Clark wondered if the other ship was toying with them. Surely if they were advanced enough to avoid the Javelin's radar, they could have just shot them out of the sky by now.

"Breaking atmosphere," Bruce said. "In three, two -"

The ship shook violently, and Clark could hear the engines exploding from the hit. Bruce was trying to keep the Javelin on course, but Clark knew that was going to be futile if the fire reached the cockpit. He undid his seatbelt, keeping an eye on the engines as they tumbled from the sky.

Finally, there was no choice. He yanked at Bruce's seatbelt, not stopping until he had Bruce out of the seat. He had to punch their way out or -

* * *

Clark groaned, his body _aching_ in ways that it shouldn't. He forced his eyes open, wincing at the red light that was seeping through a crack in the Javelin's hull. Bruce was still beneath him, protected from the fire by Clark's cape, but the smoke was a different matter.

Clark coughed a few times then picked the unconscious Bat up as carefully as he could, pushing open the bay door and taking them fully out into the fresh air.

Into the red sun.

Taking them a safe distance, Clark sat Bruce down in the snow. His friend seemed to be breathing properly, and Clark carefully pulled off the cowl to check for a head wound, relieved to find that Bruce had apparently listed Clark's biodata as safe to take off the cowl. Aside from a bump on the back of his head, Bruce seemed to be fine.

Rearranging Bruce so that his head was cushioned in Clark's lap, he ran through his options. Bruce had _said_ the other ship probably couldn't handle atmospheric re-entry, but Clark was pretty sure they had been herded to this planet rather than randomly shot down. Which meant he and Bruce should get as far as they could from the Javelin. At the same time, Clark was pretty sure Bruce put supplies on the Javelin for just this sort of scenario, but he didn't want to leave Bruce to find them and have him wake up alone. Bruce could be very dangerous when he was hurt and confused, and Clark didn't want to get a batarang to the face.

He'd wait a few more minutes and see if Bruce woke up on his own, then try to get the supplies. He still had enough power left to fly them to some cover if worst came to worst, and the cold wasn't yet biting into him.

He was about to head off to find the supplies when Bruce's breathing changed and he started coughing. "Easy," Clark said as Bruce tried to sit up. "I'm going to get the survival supplies on the ship. You stay here and rest."

"Top right panel," Bruce said between coughs, even though Clark _did_ vaguely remember the briefing that covered that. His skin looked twice as pale under the red sun, and Clark hoped it was just the light.

"Right, I'll be back in a jiffy," Clark said, speeding off.

The supplies were easy to find, and Clark used his cape to avoid the smoke. There was a pot, a couple of canteens, first aid kit, some rations, flashlight, and a few other necessities, all bundled up in what looked like a lightweight thermal blanket. Good old Bruce.

By the time he got back, Bruce already had the cowl back on and was scanning the snowy landscape. Clark was starting to feel the chill of the wind, which didn't bode well. "See anything?" Clark asked.

Bruce sighed. "Too many trees."

Clark nodded, setting the supplies down and taking off again. It was harder to gain lift, so Clark had to make the most of it. He saw a mountain not too far off and scanned it for suitable shelters.

He tried not to think of how ominous the snow looked under the red light.

"There's a few caves to the north. No guarantees of bats," Clark said, smiling as Batman looked unimpressed with his joke. "It's a two hour walk, or a ten minute flight."

Bruce checked over the supplies, probably making time for him to consider their options. "How cold are you?"

Clark tried not to shiver. "I'm starting to feel a little chilly," Clark said, and the lenses in Bruce's cowl narrowed. "I could probably make it on foot."

Bruce straightened up and slung the supplies over his shoulder. "Your suit isn't made for insulation. If you think you can fly us there, I can start a fire sooner."

It rankled Clark more than he wanted to admit that he was suddenly the weak link. Bruce's 'I' hit a nerve.

Finding a cave up to the Bat's standards was easy enough. Getting situated and collecting firewood was more effort, but he still had some power left. Ignoring how cold his hands felt, he continued to make short work of the tree.

Bruce came out of the cave, eying Clark. "That's enough for now."

"It's barely enough for two days," Clark said mulishly. He wasn't that depowered yet. "It'll be at least four days before the League finds us."

"You're shivering. We can get more later," Bruce said, frowning.

If they waited, Clark would be even weaker. Now wasn't the time to put these things off. "I'll be fine. Go start a fire," Clark said, starting to take down another tree.

"Superman, now isn't the time to push yourself!" Bruce growled.

"Not-" Clark struggled, trying to take the tree out of the ground. "-pushing."

"And if you get yourself hurt trying to prove you're an idiot? I'm not dragging you back in this snow."

"I won't," Clark said, finally yanking the tree free so he could pound it into pieces now that his laser vision was on the fritz. He set it down leaning against another tree, feeling a petty triumph as Bruce glared. He wiped the sweat from his brow before it froze.

He started to move around the tree, impatient to be near the nascent fire Bruce was starting. He _was_ shivering more, not that he wanted to admit that. Clark barely heard Bruce shout before the other tree came down on his head.

* * *

Clark groaned, trying to remember what happened. When that didn't help, he tried to push himself up.

He got a very rude surprise for his troubles.

"Stay down," a familiar voice said as gauntlets supported him.

"What?" Clark gasped, feeling dizzy and cold. His head _hurt_. It wasn't supposed to hurt like this.

"You've probably got a concussion." Bruce - was it Bruce or Batman right now? He couldn’t get that wrong. It was important to remember which it was supposed to be right now. He vaguely remembered Bruce had shouted, but he couldn't remember if he'd been shouting at Kent or Superman.

"Why does my head hurt?" Clark asked instead of chancing using either name. He suspected the words were slurred, but when he tried again, Bruce shushed him.

"Because you have a concussion," Bruce said, helping him lie back down.

"But I can't..." Can't what? It was a struggle to remember. He heard Bruce sigh. He tried to open his eyes to get a better look at his surroundings, but the light was bright and red and...

Red. Red sun. Of course.

"Do you remember the crash?" Bruce asked, pulling away once Clark had settled down.

Now that Bruce mentioned it, details started to filter through. Clark groaned. Crash was an understatement, now that he was remembering. There was... another ship?

"We were getting firewood when you had trouble with one of the trees," Bruce continued.

Sometimes, Clark really hated how tetchy Bruce could sound, disapproval building upon anger until Clark had a wall of guilt that was too high to fly over. He assumed that meant Bruce had warned him this would happen.

He hated it when Bruce was right.

Now that his head wasn't spinning so much, Clark tried to open his eyes again. Bruce was in the suit, but with the cowl off. It was strange, seeing his friend like this. Bruce Wayne and Batman - Clark had seen both plenty of times, but seeing him now was like stepping into a liminal space. He was half one thing, but not entirely the other.

His powers had to be nearly gone by this point. As if he hadn't been nearly useless before, now he'd given himself a head wound and Bruce had to take care of him after something he'd warned Clark not to do.

"Sorry," Clark said, closing his eyes again. He could only sort of remember that they'd been in an argument before, so he went out on a limb. "I should have listened."

Bruce snorted, but didn't say 'I told you so.' He always yelled so much beforehand that Clark sometimes forgot how easily Bruce tended to forgive most things once the damage was already done. "You live and learn," Bruce said, sounding tired. "How are you feeling?"

Clark tried to think clearly enough for a proper answer. His head _ached_ , and it was disorienting. He'd been through a lot of pain in his after-hours job, but usually his tolerance was higher. "Awful," he said, resisting the urge to shake his head. "It's hard to think. I can't... I can't hear things like I should. I..."

"The concussion is what is making it hard to think. The sun is probably responsible for your hearing," Bruce said calmly. "It'll get better in a few days after some rest."

A few _days_. He wasn't sure he could handle days like this. He couldn't think, and that was an all-new level of terrifying.

Bruce sighed again, and there was a rustle of movement. Clark opened his eyes to see Bruce on the other side of the fire, making to leave. "No, wait!" Clark said, trying to push aside the blanket that had been on top of him.

"Easy," Bruce said, suddenly gently pushing him back down. "The rations won't last very long. I need to see if I can find something edible out there."

It was cold without the blanket, and Clark was grateful when Bruce pulled it back up again.

"Don't..." Clark felt himself blush. Bruce was trying to keep them both alive. There was no good reason for him to put himself at risk to keep _Clark_ alive. Clark was a liability to Bruce’s own survival.

But Bruce didn't look back as he stood again and walked out of the cave into the red-tinted snow. No cape, Clark realized absently. Why didn't Bruce have his cape?

He could do this. He could be alone and disoriented. Bruce and the other non-metas did this all of the time, so he could wait...

One minute, apparently. Clark sighed in relief as Bruce came back into view, holding a pot from the supply pack. It was full of snow, and Bruce set it over the fire on a tripod he must have rigged up. They were back at the cave, Clark realized. He was under the thermal blanket, and Bruce must have carried him here. Clark also found Bruce's cape, pillowed between his head and the rock Clark was laid out on. Why was he so _slow_ at figuring this out?

Bruce sat down beside him, absently combing his fingers through Clark's hair. "Relax," he said, careful of where Clark had hit his head. Clark's whole head ached, but there was no extra pain from the soothing motion.

"I just... I can't think clearly," Clark said, wincing as his huff caused his head to spin.

"That's normal for a concussion. I don't think it's a bad one, so you'll probably heal in a few days," Bruce said again, lightly massaging his head in a way that nearly left Clark moaning. "Do you feel nauseated?"

"A little," Clark said, gasping slightly as Bruce pressed a little too hard. But it was over soon and he actually felt better after. Was there anything Bruce _wasn't_ good at?

"That's normal," Bruce continued. "Hopefully what's left of your powers is working towards healing you."

That wasn't as comforting as Clark would have liked. "Sorry," he said again. "I should have - I could have used that power to-"

Bruce took the moment to remind Clark of how much of a ... well, 'asshole' was appropriate, if not a word his mother would have approved of, that he was. Clark was usually a better thesaurus, but his head hurt and Bruce stopped the massage to flick Clark on the nose.

Clark whined softly, and Bruce rolled his eyes before resuming where he'd left off. "You're worse than Dick when he got a concussion," Bruce said, shaking his head.

Clark tried to glare, but that was more effort than it was worth and he gave up. "How _old_ was he the first time?"

"Five," Bruce said. "Well before I knew him, if the lion tamer is to be believed. He hadn't learned the necessity of having a spotter when trying new gymnastic moves."

That sounded like something a young Dick Grayson would do, even if it didn't make Clark feel much better.

"Tim's first concussion wasn't with me either, I don't think," Bruce said, quieter. Clark knew there was a follow-up question to that, but his head hurt too much to figure it out. Later.

"The first time he got one on a mission," Bruce continued, "He sat up and demanded coffee."

Clark laughed, which was a mistake, but it couldn't be helped. "You shouldn't let him have so much coffee."

"You try taking it away from him," Bruce said with a look of long-suffering frustration. "I'll let you know if he hacks into my computers to find the Kryptonite in revenge for his lack of caffeine, or if he has to ask Dick for help."

How did everyone in the Bat clan end up being as scarily efficient as Bruce? "And..." Clark started hesitantly. "There was someone-"

" _Don't_ ," Bruce growled, low and dangerous as his fingers froze.

Clark flinched. _Jason_. Right. Bad topic. "Sorry," he said, attempting to sit up again. "I should-"

Sighing, Bruce pushed him back down. Which shouldn't have worked, but Bruce was stronger than him right now. "Stay in recovery position, idiot," he said, but his bark had lost its bite. "Are you always this maudlin after a concussion?"

"Guess so. Never had one before."

Bruce said what sounded like some very unflattering things under his breath, but without his super hearing, Clark didn't bother to try to make sense of it. He liked the word 'maudlin' though. He'd have to remember to use it more often.

"Bruce," he said, his mind catching on half a memory. "I'm sorry about what happened."

"Stop apologizing," Bruce said, with a hint of a threat.

"No, for... for what happened with Flash. I should have known better than to let him keep talking about it during the fight."

Bruce glared. "You want to have this conversation _now_?" he asked incredulously.

"Not quite the setting I had in mind," Clark said, managing a smile back at Bruce. "But we - You shouldn't listen to the news. We want you back at the Watchtower."

Bruce stilled for a fraction of a second, then shook his head. "The League doesn't need the media storm," Bruce said. "It would die down if you just let it drop."

This time Clark did sit up, his head light and bile hitting the back of his throat, but anger gave him more strength. "What do you expect us to do? Have you seen what people have been _saying_? We're not going to sit around and just let that go!"

"I'd appreciate it if you all at least stopped breaking parts of the Watchtower."

Clark winced. Anger didn't sit well on most of the team, and being metas hadn't helped the matter. The coffee machine was the only thing that _hadn't_ been replaced the next day, and the rest of the team took that for the warning it was and tried not to stand near anything too expensive while the news was running. "You're dodging the issue."

"It's not the worst thing people have said about me," Bruce said. "I'm a vigilante, after all."

"It's not the same," Clark insisted.

Bruce closed his eyes, looking exhausted. "It doesn't matter."

"Bruce, they're saying that you're an inhuman freak. That you're more alien than _me_. After everything you've done for them, people are still saying such terrible things."

"They've called me that before. They've called the rest of you those things before too," Bruce said, and Clark hated how _reasonable_ he sounded.

"Not because of something like this," Clark said, allowing Bruce to guide him back down. He pouted, which he knew wasn't a flattering look on him no matter what Lois claimed. "Bruce..."

"It'll pass. It usually does," Bruce said, which wasn't reassuring in the slightest. He felt helpless. Even without the red sun, Clark hadn't been able to do anything about the things people were saying. He should be able to do more when his friend was hurting. Especially when it wasn't just any friend, it was _Bruce_.

"It's not right," Clark said, settling against Bruce's cape as he stared at the fire. "It shouldn't matter."

Bruce resumed petting his hair, this time less of a massage and more of a soothing motion, as though he were trying to calm Dick or Tim from a nightmare. Clark hated the fact that he was the one who should be trying to comfort Bruce, not the other way around.

Lois had been so much better than him at this. She'd been with him when he interviewed some of the LGBT community, and the interviews had been going well at first until...

_"Honestly, they shouldn't be part of us," the woman said, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "It's not like they suffer like we do, and a lack of sexual attraction isn't the same as a sexual orientation. Besides, they can just pass as heterosexual, so they don't deserve to claim our community."_

_Clark nearly dropped his pen, struck speechless for a moment by the sheer animosity the woman displayed._

_Lois, on the other hand, went from calm to livid in less than a second. She had no trouble vocalizing her rage. "So let me get this straight. You're out and proud, but people who are different from you need to stay in the closet and pretend to be something they're not?"_

_Now the woman was getting defensive as well. "Look, they can just take meds and fix the problem. They don't deserve to stand with us, not when they're the oppressors. This is our safe space."_

_Clark had to close his eyes, because he could feel his heat vision activating._

_"Thank you for the fascinating interview on bigotry, Ms. Fairchild," Lois said, grabbing Clark's arm. "But we have other people to talk to. Good-bye."_

_Clark barely heard the woman's denial as Lois pulled him away. He also wasn't terribly surprised when two days later, Lois slapped down an article to proof on his desk, her eyes flashing. "I'm not sorry for stealing your byline, Smallville," she said as she walked away._

_He leafed through a scathing report on the exclusive nature of some of the LGBT communities, and Clark wasn't all that dismayed to lose the byline. Lois delivered the message better than he ever could._

"Did Lois know?" he asked, the words out of his mouth before he could stop it.

"She was the one who gave me the word for it," Bruce said, surprising Clark.

"But you..."

"There wasn't actually a lot of knowledge going around about it when I was growing up," Bruce admitted. "I had... stopped looking after a while and accepted I would always be like this."

Something about the way Bruce said those last words tore at Clark. "You're not _broken_ ," Clark growled, causing Bruce's eyes to widen fractionally with the force of it.

Then Bruce snorted in disbelief, looking away. He didn't believe it, Clark realized with a lurch. "That's exactly what she told me too," he said, then softer, so that Clark almost missed it, "She was going to transfer to Gotham despite that. Lois is a truly remarkable woman."

Clark remembered being relieved when Lois had broken up with Bruce, especially when the vigilante hadn't seemed to take it that hard. A little guilty at the relief, but relieved all the same. Now Clark wasn't so sure Bruce _had_ taken it well. Bruce was, after all, so very good at hiding.

"Who else knew?" Clark asked.

Bruce pulled away and Clark tried not to flinch. "Is this your reporter's interrogation?"

"No, I'm not trying to..." Clark started, frustrated at himself. He'd gotten good at knowing when to push Bruce and when to let things go, but he'd definitely blown it this time. "I just... I want to understand. You're my best friend, Bruce."

Bruce still didn't move back, and Clark deflated. He curled his fingers in Bruce's cape. "I'm sorry."

He closed his eyes, figuring Bruce would leave at that. He'd made his distaste at Clark's 'maudlin' mood known earlier, and Clark was just compounding his sins and weaknesses. He didn't hear anything for a while, but that didn't mean Bruce was still there.

He was just so tired...

He must have dozed a little, because the next thing he knew, Bruce was helping him sit up. "Drink," Bruce said gruffly, handing him a canteen.

His throat was practically screaming for water, so Clark did as he was told. The water was still hot, but it didn't scorch his mouth. Bruce probably wasn't taking any chances with the water. Though it was strange, Clark was actually glad the water wasn't cold. The thermal blanket had slipped down his shoulders as he sat up to drink, and even with the fire, the air was still chilly.

"Can you keep food down?" Bruce asked once Clark had finished the water.

"Think so," Clark replied. He was still a little dizzy, but he did feel more clear-headed now.

Bruce handed over an MRE, proving he hadn't actually left to go foraging while Clark had napped. Clark ate it gratefully, feeling slightly queasy, but nothing too bad. Taking a few more sips from the warm water, Clark laid back down.

There was still a tension about Bruce. His gauntlets were back on, and so was the cowl, probably for warmth, but it also shrouded his friend in darkness. Usually the darkness was a boon for Bruce, but right now all Clark could think of was how isolating it was. Had Bruce ever really felt like he'd actually _belonged_ anywhere? Given how the mainstream press and the LGBT community had reacted, Clark was starting to think the answer was no. " _They don't deserve to stand with us_."

Bruce was back to melting snow, which was a tedious process considering a pot full of snow gave way to a lot less water. He was on the other side of the fire, keeping his distance from Clark while still being within reaching distance if Clark tried something stupid.

Clark considered his options. More questions probably wouldn't be appreciated, and reassurances even less so, but he couldn't leave it like this. Bruce would ignore things until the tension disappeared, but Clark felt like this had been 'ignored' for too long.

He tried to sit up, then to stand since sitting up wasn't so bad. He wasn't entirely sure what he was going to do, but whatever it was would have to be put on hold, because standing was so much different from sitting.

"Don't try so fast," Bruce growled as he caught Clark and laid him back down before he could pass out entirely. " _Stay down_ , Boy Scout."

" _You_ can get up with concussions," Clark accused.

"That's because I trained myself to fight through it," Bruce said.

Clark hated that tone, like Bruce was talking to a particularly slow child. It wasn't condescending. In fact, it held far more patience than Batman had any right to have. But it was still the tone reserved to calm small children who were panicking, and Clark resented it being directed at him.

But he laid down, because for everything that the yellow sun gave him, Bruce had _earned_ it all through hard work. He hated the glaring reminder of how inadequate he was without his powers. Bruce was always nagging at him to train more without them, and once again, Bruce was right.

Clark saw his opportunity as Bruce settled him. Pushing aside his anger at his own helplessness, he grabbed Bruce's hand before the Bat could pull away.

Bruce frowned. "I need my hand back," he said, tone lacking any real anger, though there was a tense line to his shoulders. That was good enough for Clark. Even though his bare hand was cold out from under the blanket, his grip on the covered hand in his tightened stubbornly.

Without his x-ray vision, he couldn't be sure, but something in the sharp black lines of the Bat suit softened. He didn't pull away, instead letting his black fingers become entangled with Clark's bare ones.

After that, Clark just let things rest. Bruce was content to sit with him, occasionally getting up for more snow to melt and making Clark drink. He always left his hand where Clark could claim it afterwards, and Clark never hesitated to take possession of it. He wasn't sure who was comforting who, but if it kept Bruce from being alone in his darkness, Clark didn't care.

He was glad it was Bruce with him. Out of all the League members, Bruce was the quietest. He was always more economical with words under the cowl, but even without it he leaned towards silence unless he was putting on a show. The others would have constantly been asking how he was feeling, but for the most part, Bruce just let him be, trusting that Clark would say something if things got worse.

He let himself drift again, relaxing as Bruce had told him to. There wasn't anything to be done about the peace treaty they were supposed to be negotiating, but it was supposed to be a short trip. The others would notice something was amiss soon enough.

Clark was nearly asleep when Bruce tried to slip his hand away. "Bruce?"

"No names," Bruce said automatically, and Clark remembered the cowl was in place. "Stay in recovery position. There's firewood behind you, water and other rations to your right."

"You're leaving," Clark said. He was feeling better, but still not great. He was still more disoriented than he wanted to admit.

"I need to see if there's anything edible nearby before it gets too dark," Bruce said gently. "Try to sleep. I'll wake you when I get back to see how you're doing."

"Alright," Clark said, forcing himself not to panic. He had gotten used to this. He could do this.

Bruce hesitated. Clark closed his eyes, reminding himself that he _had_ been through much worse than a headache and some dizzy spells. Bruce and his kids had all been through this before. If Tim could sit up and demand coffee, Clark could smile and pretend to be okay.

"I'm fine," Clark said, opening his eyes and forcing an approximation of a smile on his face. "Sorry for being useless."

"Mmhm," Bruce said.

Clark had gotten very good at deciphering what the Flash called 'Batspeak' over the years. He was 80% sure Bruce was either calling him an idiot or a liar. Maybe both. Batspeak was harder than Kryptonian on good days. "Go on," Clark said. "I'll be good."

This time, Bruce raised an eyebrow. It was harder with the cowl on to be sure, but Clark was 100% certain of the translation being 'I seriously doubt that.' "I won't go far," Bruce said, motioning to the comms if Clark needed something.

Bruce left after that, and Clark pulled the thermal blanket tighter around him. Then he breathed in the smell of Batman from the cape under his head. It was comforting in a way that reminded Clark of sunlight shining through his window.

Then he snorted, because he was pretty sure everyone would tell him comparing Batman to sunlight was ridiculous.

The problem with being good and doing as Bruce said was that it was awfully boring without Bruce here. Bruce didn't say much, which would have driven the Flash up a wall, but for Clark, life was always so _busy_. And noisy. The silence had felt... still disquieting because he was used to hearing so much more, but nice in spite of that. Now it was just dull.

Sighing, he boiled the water again and drank some more, wishing for some instant coffee or tea. Then he put another log on the fire.

Despite the fact that he hadn't done much but lie there since he got the concussion, Clark felt exhausted. With nothing else to do, Clark decided Bruce might have been right about trying to sleep.

* * *

Clark woke up, stilling as he carefully tried to look around. Something had woken him, but without his powers, it was difficult to ascertain the source. He sat up slowly, noting it was dark now. The snow outside had lost its red glow, instead turning a pale blue under the moon. Two moons? He thought the planet had two, at any rate. He tried to remember why the moons reflected blue, but the details slipped past his hazy mind.

The fire was a much brighter source of light, and he put a couple more logs on since it had gotten low while he slept. Then he carefully stood up. He still felt dizzy, and _much_ colder, but wrapping his own cape tighter around him helped.

There was nothing in the cave that looked amiss. He glanced at the mouth of the cave and worried his lip. Bruce would be _furious_ , but also probably unsurprised. Bruce also wasn't _here_ , which was a level of worrying in itself.

Making up his mind, Clark followed the wall to the mouth of the cave, then looked around. Even though it was dark, this world felt so much more inviting without the menacing red glow. He looked up at the moons, one glowing blue, the other reflecting a dim red.

The forest around the cave was harder to see through, but there was nothing in the immediate clearing that Clark could see. Maybe he was imagining things, but then why wasn't Bruce back? Bruce promised he wouldn't go far.

The line of the trees on the right were further back, but he still saw nothing of interest. He was about to turn around and go back under the thermal blanket by the fire when something moved out of the corner of his eye. It was far enough that Clark wished he had his regular vision, because it took a minute to realize what had changed. Before there had only been trees, but now there was a dark spot on the ground.

Clark was moving before he realized it, cursing the snow and his lack of speed. He fell a few times, barely able to feel his feet anymore, but he kept going. It took about ten minutes to get to the dark spot, and Clark was shivering so hard he could barely breathe by the time he got there. The sight that greeted him stole his breath anyway.

"Bruce!" he said, falling to his knees in the cold snow next to the fallen figure.

He was lying face down, but at the sound of his name, Bruce tried to weakly push himself up. "Superman..."

Clark helped him turn over so that he could breathe easier. The Batsuit was as dark as night, but the snow wasn't. Illuminated by the pale moonlight, the blood that stained the ground was easy to see. Clark hadn't realized he could get any colder, but the sight chilled him in a way that no ice ever could.

"What happened?" Clark demanded, forcing his teeth to stop chattering enough that he could speak clearly.

"Trap," Bruce said, his breath ghosting in the air as Clark tried to find the wound. It was depressingly ineffective without his regular vision or proper light. "For you and Green Lantern," Bruce continued, a small smirk tilting up the left side of his mouth. "Didn't expect me."

Clark had been trying to help Bruce to stand, but he froze at that. Anger started to boil his blood. "You weren't going out to find food."

"Peace treaty - ruse to get back at Lantern Corps," Bruce said, grunting in pain as Clark forced him forward. "Kill John, use you as hostage."

It was useless to carry Bruce like this. If he had his strength, it would be easy to pick Bruce up and carry him back. But now...

Clark closed his eyes and forced himself to _think_ around the disorientation of his thoughts. Bruce was skipping words, making sure the bare essentials got to Clark. Which meant he needed to get them back _fast_ , because Bruce wasn't assuming he'd last very long.

Taking off his cape, he wrapped it around Bruce as best as he could, then Clark knelt again. He was glad his suit at least kept out the moisture, if not the cold. He placed Bruce's arms around his neck, then put his own hands under Bruce's thighs and around his waist. "Hold on to me," Clark ordered as he hoisted Bruce's weight on his back. "And keep talking."

"You should... leave."

"I'm _not_ leaving you here," Clark said vehemently. "Find a different topic. Keep talking."

Bruce went silent as Clark struggled forward, and it terrified him more than he wanted to admit. " _Bruce_. Don't fall asleep. Talk to me. _Please_."

"Selina," Bruce said, his voice low as his breath warmed Clark's neck.

Clark nearly stopped before he remembered himself. "What?" he asked, thrown off by Bruce's complete non sequitur. Was he hallucinating?

"Who else knew," Bruce answered.

Trust Bruce to pick up an emotional conversation he had avoided earlier to keep from freezing to death.

"Roni," Bruce continued as Clark trekked on.

"I don't know Ronnie," Clark said, trying to place the name on what he knew of Gotham's residents. "Who is he?"

"She," Bruce corrected. "Veronica Vreeland."

"You told _Veronica Vreeland_ about your sexual orientation before me?" Selina and Lois he could understand since they had a history, but some high society lady whose biggest claim to fame was her father's money and getting kidnapped from time to time rankled more than he could articulate. Vaguely, he did remember some gossip rags going on about Bruce and Vreeland dating on and off, but Clark had always thought that was just part of Bruce Wayne's mask.

"Was it that important to know?" Bruce asked sharply.

Clark shifted him up carefully, biting back his own temper. "Sorry," he said, because he was the one in the wrong right now, even with his temper flaring. "I know it's not... You trust me, I know, I'm just..." Jealous. It wasn't a pleasant thing to admit, but he _was_ jealous that Bruce would tell other people about this, but not him. He'd done enough research to know how ridiculous and self-centered that was. Unfortunately, it didn't stop him from feeling it.

"She wanted a beard," Bruce said as if that explained anything. Clark felt the tension in his chest relax, because continuing the conversation was the same as forgiveness in this case. "She's... she's bisexual. So when she dated girls before she was out, she used me as a cover."

Oh. That kind of beard. "You were okay with that?"

"Meant I could sneak off when I needed. Keep respectability when I adopted Dick and Tim," Bruce said. "She's... a good friend. She likes philosophy."

Clark was having trouble seeing past the gossip rags, which he knew probably didn't do her justice, but it was still an odd image to contemplate.

"Tried to... be normal for Talia," Bruce said, the word 'normal' breaking something dark in Clark's chest. "That one was... short. For the best."

"Zatanna," Bruce continued before Clark could come up with a response. "Diana was getting close to guessing."

"Did Alfred know?" Clark asked.

Bruce snorted, and it tickled the side of Clark's neck pleasantly. The cave was still a good distance off, and Bruce got heavier with each passing second in all that armor. "If you can hide anything from Alfred... you're a better liar than me."

Clark wondered if that meant they'd ever talked about that sort of thing, or if Alfred had simply picked up on the clues.

"It didn't..." Bruce said, trailing off.

Clark shifted Bruce higher up on his shoulders. "Don't sleep," Clark said, making it as much of an order as he dared with Bruce.

"Didn't make _sense_ ," Bruce mumbled. "Why people wanted it all the time. I-I could do it, but it doesn't feel that..."

"Important?" Clark guessed, leaning towards Bruce and Alfred actually discussing the topic now. Puberty must have been hard on Bruce.

"Good," Bruce settled on. "Not bad. Just not... No reason to _keep_ doing it. Never really wanted to. Not with anyone else."

' _Not like everyone else_ ' was left unsaid, but Clark just held him tighter.

"We're almost there," Clark said as Bruce's head suddenly felt heavier against him. " _Bruce_. How did Dick and Tim take it?"

Bruce grumbled something, his lips unintentionally brushing over Clark's skin. Clark shivered harder, not entirely due to the cold. "Tim and Dick," Clark repeated, intentionally jostling Bruce, who hissed in pain. He'd feel sorry about it later, but Bruce's head was back up. "How did they take it?"

"Tim paints flags everywhere now," Bruce griped, annoyance clearly rallying his second wind. "Keeps sending ridiculous e-cards. Overly sentimental nonsense."

"You like them," Clark said, stumbling. He regained his balance just in time.

"No," Bruce said, but Clark didn't need Diana's lasso or his super hearing to know that was a lie.

"Harvey..." Bruce said, his voice quieter then. "He knew. Never understood, but he..."

Harvey... Dent, Clark filled in as he finally made it out of the snow and into the cave. Clark gasped in relief as the heat from the fire took over from the fading adrenaline. "But he what?" Clark asked, using all of his will power not to fall to his knees or faint as he let go of Bruce carefully. He felt nauseous like he hadn't been before, and he had to swallow several times to keep from throwing up. It was harder to think again, but at least there was fire to warm them up.

"Still liked me," Bruce said, a small whine in his throat as Clark's elbow pressed against his side. That snapped Clark's head back in the game, because Bruce would never have admitted something like that normally. He was picking at the wounds to stay awake.

Clark had to push through the concussion, like Bruce had said before, laying Bruce out next to the fire. He had to. He thanked Rao and whatever other deity was out there that Tim had shown him all the catches and latches on the Batsuit when Bruce had gone missing. In the firelight, he could see the darkened spot on the lower left of Bruce's abdomen, but he couldn't see the wound.

Unfortunately, taking off the armor would make Bruce colder, which Clark wasn't sure he could risk right now.

"Boil water," Bruce said, taking over as Clark faltered. Clark immediately poured water into the pot, then helped Bruce struggle out of the rest of the suit. As the cowl came off, Clark moved Bruce as close to the fire as he dared.

Clark felt flushed, the heat stinging his face as his skin was still adjusted to the outside, but Bruce looked far too pale, his core temperature too low. He'd been lying in the snow for Rao knows how long before Clark had gotten there.

Finally, Clark peeled the undersuit away and swallowed when he saw the sluggish wound, half frozen over. Its frozen state was likely the only reason Bruce was still alive, because the wound was big. He had to - but he couldn't cauterize the wound, not without his powers. He couldn't even keep Bruce _warm_. How could he-

" _Kent_ ," Bruce growled. "Clean..."

Clean the wound. That was what the water was for. Clark forced himself to calm down and think like a human. Humans could survive this, and he'd learned more than enough about how to give aid to humans over the years. "I-I need," Clark said, forcing his thoughts not to scatter as his headache worsened. "Metal. Something to-"

Clark stopped, immediately standing. He felt the newly returned blood drain from his face at the motion, and he cursed himself for not thinking. Bruce needed help, and Clark couldn't give it if he fainted.

When he felt more stable, Clark went for Bruce's utility belt. It took longer than it should have to remember which pouch it was in, but he pulled out a batarang, only fumbling it once with his thick fingers. Metal. Flat. Perfect.

When he looked back at Bruce, his eyes were closed.

" _Bruce_ ," he said, falling to his friend's side and tapping his cheeks. "Do _not_ fall asleep on me. You are the most stubborn, pig-headed man I know, so prove it. _Wake up_."

Bruce groaned, blinking as he focused on Clark. "You're... more stubborn," Bruce said weakly. "You should... It's okay. Just let..."

" _Don't_ ," Clark said, fury overcoming him as he realized what Bruce was asking. "It's not okay. I'm not letting you _die_."

Bruce huffed, but looked away. Taking that for at least a temporary agreement, Clark took the water off the fire before it boiled over and replaced it with the batarang.

"Keep talking to me, Bruce," Clark said, looking through their supplies for bandages and antiseptic. He found a small bottle of alcohol and a cloth he could use in the first aid kit.

"What do you want to know?" Bruce asked, struggling with the words, but managing them.

"I..." Clark had a lot of questions, even without the recent mess in the media. He'd done his research, learned what _not_ to ask, sometimes the hard way, but there were still...

"Just ask," Bruce said quietly.

Poking at the wound or getting it over with while he was already in pain? Either way, Clark didn't want to hurt Bruce more, but the glare made him sigh as he wet the cloth from the pot and started to clean the wound. "You... as a civilian, you have sex a lot," Clark said as he tried to keep his hands steady.

Bruce hissed, his fingers clenching in Superman's cape which he was laid out on. "Not a question."

"Answer it anyway," Clark said.

"It's... useful," Bruce said, breathing through the pain. Useful in that Bruce Wayne always had a ready excuse to skip away if needed, and that Bruce could use it sometimes to try to be _normal_. The thought horrified him more than Clark wanted to think about, Bruce having sex because he thought it was necessary, not because he wanted it.

When he looked up, he got a surprisingly angry glare. "Whatever you're thinking, stop."

Clark laughed in spite of himself. They were a right pair, the both of them.

The wound was starting to bleed again, and Clark bit his lip. Bruce had started shivering, which was a good sign, but it made it much harder to clean the wound.

"I like..." Bruce started, then cut off as Clark started putting pressure on the wound. "Giving pleasure. Sometimes."

With all of the violence in their after-hours job, Clark could see the appeal in that. It settled something in him, to know Bruce wasn't just being pressured into his playboy role.

"This will sting," Clark warned as he lifted the cloth and poured on the alcohol.

Clark grit his teeth as Bruce cried out in pain. He wanted to close his eyes against the sight of his best friend suffering, but he had to watch, to make sure that he wasn't hurting Bruce any more than necessary. He'd see this in his nightmares for a long time, however. He hated causing Bruce pain.

He cleaned up the alcohol, because the last thing he wanted was to set Bruce on fire while trying to cauterize the wound. "Put pressure on this," Clark said, pushing down on the wound as he waited for Bruce to comply.

Standing slowly this time, Clark fought off another wave of nausea and dizziness as he got his bearings. He was prepared for it though, which helped. Swallowing repeatedly to push the bile back down, he went over to where Bruce had stacked the firewood, looking for a piece of tinder that would be big enough. He tested one piece, then held it up for Bruce to see.

Bruce's eyes were heavy-lidded, but he nodded, his mouth taking on a grim line. Clark was the one who had to take a minute to breathe and steady himself for what he was about to do. Doing this with his eyes would have been much quicker and less painful for Bruce.

As Bruce was using his cape, Clark went back to his blanket pile to find Bruce's. He was pretty sure it was fireproof, and Bruce didn't stop him as he used the corner of it to take the batarang off the fire.

"Wait," Bruce said as Clark knelt down again, eying the reddened metal. "It's too hot."

Clark nodded, holding the batarang in one hand as he reinforced Bruce's hand with the other. He watched helplessly as the firelight illuminated each line of pain on Bruce's face in its flickering dance.

"Now," Bruce said, and Clark nodded, placing the wood between Bruce's teeth.

Bruce screamed as Clark brought the metal down. Clark focused on keeping his hand steady as he lifted and repeated the motion, wishing he had found a strong branch for himself as he ground his teeth together. Short bursts. Don't hold it too long. Don't listen to Bruce's screams. There would be nightmares enough of that later. Move on to the next portion of the wound once one part was closed. Repeat.

Finally, he was done. Clark nearly sobbed in relief. He put the batarang down, pulling his cape closer around Bruce's shoulders. He needed... He needed bandages. He took the piece of wood out of Bruce's mouth after the man gave him a nod, then looked down at where he'd set the rest of their supplies.

He dropped the bandages twice before he managed to pull himself together, but he got it done. The wound was dressed.

He dared a glance at Bruce's face, only to find that his eyes were closed, wet with tears still trailing down his cheeks. "No!" Clark said, lunging forward. He tapped Bruce's cheeks, shaking him as gently as possible. Blood mixed in with the tears, and Clark realized it was his fingers that had stained Bruce's skin. "Bruce, wake up! Don't... Bruce!"

"Clark," Bruce said hoarsely, blinking up at him with what looked like annoyance. Tears of his own were making it harder for Clark to see, because of _course_ Bruce would be grumpy right now.

"You need - there should be... Blanket," Clark said, for all of his eloquence with words had deserted him. This time he carried Bruce in his arms, careful of his right side. He was lighter without the armor, but Clark was still glad it was only a short ways to move Bruce out of range of the fire enough to safely wrap the thermal blanket around him.

Body heat. Clark shrugged out of most of his suit, shivering in the cold before slipping under the blanket with his friend. He wrapped his cape tighter around the both of them, using Bruce's as a pillow again. Before he could stop himself, he pressed a kiss to Bruce's hair, just above his temple. Adrenaline. Thankfully, Bruce either didn't notice or didn't care.

"Stay awake," Clark pleaded, pulling Bruce close against his chest.

"Demanding," Bruce said against his collarbone, his voice lacking any of its usual power. He sounded younger like this, unable to hide the pain, and Clark tightened his arms around him.

"Stay with me," Clark said.

"You have Lois."

Clark was struck by the words, the blow far worse than any Kryptonite he had ever felt. Bruce continued on, "Diana. J'onn. The League. I just... want to sleep."

" _No,_ " Clark said, because Bruce Wayne never gave up. Through everything, Batman never once gave up. Even the times when _Clark_ had wanted to give in, Bruce kept going. He would be the last man standing, no matter what the cost, even his own life. "We need _you_. I need you. You can't... After all of this, I'm not letting you go. Gotham and the world need you."

Gotham had been a desperate attempt, when Clark could feel he wasn't getting through. Gotham had a hook on Bruce that no person could ever rightly have. It was at Gotham's name that Bruce struggled to look at Clark, sighing as Clark stubbornly pulled him closer. "Alright," he said finally.

Clark couldn't tell if he wanted to sob or laugh at the admission, and he was trembling from far more than the cold. "Thank you," he said, his voice cracking. "Just a little bit longer until your core temperature is up, I promise."

Bruce nodded, and Clark leaned his head against Bruce's, taking in the faint scent of cologne. He must have come straight from an engagement in his civilian identity. Which wasn't helpful when Clark needed a topic to keep Bruce talking. Not more questions, because he felt like he had already asked too much, but something...

"I..." Clark said, taking a breath to fortify himself. "I know it's not the same thing. But I know what it's like, feeling like... Like there's something _wrong_ with you."

Bruce's breathing stopped for a moment, but before Clark could worry, he could feel his friend forcing a deep breath.

Clark didn't wait for the reply, barging on. "When I was younger, I got expelled three times. I couldn't... I _hurt_ people, other kids. The staff all thought I was fighting, but I wasn't. I just didn't know my strength. Even in high school, I lost my temper a few times and people got... hurt.

"I could hear things other people couldn't. Things I _shouldn't_ have," Clark said, remembering how many of those had been words about _him_. Even kids he had thought of as friends had called him terrible things. "I could _see_ things I wasn't supposed to. Everyone thought I was a liar when looking through a microscope in biology, and I couldn't understand _why_."

"Alone in a crowd," Bruce said softly, the words sinking deep into the core of Clark's soul. The words reverberated through his bones, naming a feeling Clark had never allowed himself to examine too closely.

"Yeah," Clark said on an exhale. "Yeah, that's..." Clark shook his head, getting a hold of himself. "But I... I got a job at the _Planet_ , despite all of that. I made friends, and not just ones that like Superman, but that like _me_. Then I met you and the others and... They're all alone in a crowd too, now. Maybe we can be alone together."

Bruce snorted, the sound filled to the brim with exhaustion. He didn't say anything more in response. Clark supposed 'alone together' probably didn't warrant one, but Bruce wasn't the only one who was tired and in pain.

"Are you okay?" Clark asked, not sure if he was asking if Bruce was awake or if he was okay with... everything.

"You're asking..." Bruce said, struggling with the words, but pushing forward. "You cauterized my wounds and are keeping me awake to keep me from dying."

Remembering what Bruce had done earlier when accusing him of being maudlin, Clark let go of Bruce for a moment to flick him on the nose. He got a sleepy growl in response. "Not what I meant," Clark said, deciding on the latter.

"Not my first scandal," Bruce said, which was infuriatingly still not an answer.

Clark let it go. It was probably answer enough anyway, but Clark himself was too tired to parse through Bruce's mental tricks. He kept talking about his childhood and other things, waiting for Bruce to put together a response every so often, until finally Bruce wasn't shivering as much.

"I think you can sleep now," Clark said, hoping he was right.

There was a light hum in response, and Clark figured Bruce had already decided on that for himself. He added a few more logs to the fire and left the water nearby, then curled up around Bruce again.

"Good night, Bruce," he said softly, letting the stress fall away from his own body enough to relax.

* * *

'Out of the frying pan and into the fire' was the phrase his mother was particularly fond of whenever Clark's habit of finding trouble sparked up. It was the first thing on his mind when he woke up to find Bruce sweating when Clark himself was still chilled despite the blanket and capes.

Bruce was like a furnace, almost unbearably hot when Clark touched him. Clark realized he must have moved away at some point when they were sleeping. His headache was receding, but still pounding as he sat up and swallowed several times before carefully gulping down some water.

That done, he pulled the blanket away from Bruce to find him deeply flushed. Clark placed a hand on his forehead and bit back a yelp of surprise. As quickly as he could, Clark checked the wound for infection, but it looked as clean as it could be in the circumstances. Redressing it, Clark ran through other reasons Bruce might be running what felt like a dangerously high fever. Was it the water? But then, why wasn't Clark sick as well? Or-

Clark glanced at the mouth of the cave, and nearly hit his still pounding head against one of the cave walls, clearly hearing his mother's voice as she scolded him and Pa about wrapping up warm or catching a cold. Bruce had gone without his cape and had been lying face-down in the snow for a while, and God knows if that was the only time he'd fallen on the way back from wherever he'd been. Bruce's suit was warmer than Clark's but still not actually built for this kind of weather.

Bruce was flinching away from the red light, a hoarse whine escaping his throat.

"Hold on," Clark said, covering Bruce with the blanket as he set the water boiling. Did the survival pack come with tea? A brief search came up with no, and Clark was going to add Theraflu to the list of supplies needed in there. Most of the League couldn't catch a cold, but that didn't mean all of them couldn't.

He let the water cool a little before helping Bruce to drink. It was a slow process, and Clark debated about getting Bruce to eat something too. Trying to rouse him further didn't work, and Clark's bottom lip was starting to bleed a little when he worried it.

Clark touched his lip and started at the sight of his fingers. It was always a shock to see his own blood. Losing his powers wasn't the only time he bled, but it was still a rare enough occurrence that it gave him a jolt. Shaking out of his reverie, Clark forced himself to eat some of the rations as he got a cloth to wipe away the sweat Bruce had worked up.

Bruce was getting worse as Clark watched, twitching and moaning through feverish nightmares. Clark wanted to slide back under the covers and hold him again, but even weakened by the wound and fever, Bruce was a dangerous man. And without his powers, Clark was...

Useless. Vulnerable. Unable to use any of the things that made him a hero. It was funny, considering how many times he'd wished he didn't have these powers when he was younger. The thing that turned him into a freak, gone when he needed it the most.

Taking a deep breath, Clark forced himself to think of what he could do and not how much his hand hurt from punching the cave wall. Just because he couldn't do it the _easy_ way anymore, didn't mean he was...

There had to be something he could do. Bruce was always prepared. They had enough firewood, and Clark melted some more snow to refill their water. He helped Bruce drink more during a calm spell as he considered. Their supplies proved a bust in cold medicine, but -

Bruce's utility belt!

Praying that Bruce had left the Kryptonite at home, Clark carefully tried to open the pouches. The belt didn't try to electrocute him like an intruder, so Clark counted it as a blessing that Bruce had left Tim’s alterations to the security system in place.

There were unfortunately a lot of things in there that Clark could only guess at. There was even a small can of something labeled 'Shark Repellent Spray' that Clark couldn't tell if it was serious or if Batman had run into King Shark recently.

Then he found a small device that didn't look like anything Bruce had made. It looked familiar, but Clark couldn't say from where. Had Bruce picked it up somewhere and forgotten about it? Didn't sound like Bruce. He ran his fingers down the smooth surface, trying to work out its origin through his headache.

He flipped it over and recognized the mark as that of the Clotharian Empire.

How did the others _work_ with headaches disrupting their thoughts?

Biting down on a sigh of frustration, Clark turned it over again. Bruce picked it up because it must have been important. Part of it felt like fabric, and the other metal. He found a catch on the fabric part and tried lifting it up.

It looked suspiciously like a communicator's microphone.

Clark nearly dropped the device. Turning it on and giving away their position would get him on the end of a long lecture from a very pissed-off Bruce. Unfortunately, while Clark was proficient with technology and had significantly better tech in his Fortress than most of humanity, it would take more than his level of skill to make sure it would go through to the League and not to Clothar. That was...

That was more Bruce's area of expertise.

Clark put the device aside, continuing his search. Finally, he found some Advil, thankful that Bruce's favored painkiller could help with the fever.

As he crushed the pills up for Bruce, he debated trying one for himself. Bruce would have a fit, he knew, but Clark didn't think his body was _that_ different from human normal under a red sun. In the end, he decided against, though more because Bruce might need the medicine more later than his own potential poisoning.

Clark managed to get Bruce to drink down the Advil, then waited to see the effect. He nibbled on the rations, looking outside. It would be freezing, but they needed to have something more to eat.

Putting more wood on the fire, he glanced at Bruce's suit. It would be warmer than Clark's, even with the gash down the side. It wouldn't be comfortable with all the dried blood, but an inner voice that sounded more like Batman than Clark cared to admit growled at him to be practical.

With a sigh, he struggled into the suit, remembering a few tricks Alfred had done to make it not as tight. Bruce was far from a small man, but the shoulders weren't the easiest thing to shimmy into. Without his powers or the special scissors Alfred had used, he couldn't make the right cuts to fully fit, but it would have to do. Finally, he pulled the cowl on, and glanced back at Bruce.

Bruce was still shivering under the blanket, his breathing shallow and wheezing in a way that worried Clark more than the fever. "I'll be back soon," Clark said softly. It was harder to leave than he thought it would be, but doing nothing would make things worse. Bruce wasn't giving up, so Clark couldn't either.

His headache still pounded, but the dizziness and nausea had faded and Clark was grateful for that as he walked through the stark trees. They looked like some kind of pine, grey needles reaching up to the red sun. There was very little by way of berries or nuts in the underbrush, leaving the unbroken snow reflecting the wretched sunlight back at him.

He was glad for Batman's lenses as they filtered out the glare, but Clark was really beginning to hate the color red.

Finding no other useful plants, Clark turned back, but a thought struck him. Bruce had run into the Clotharians, so maybe...

Oh, Bruce was _really_ going to hate him for this.

Trekking back to where he found Bruce, Clark didn't look at the blackened snow that held the dried blood. The path Bruce had stumbled down was still clear, which meant Bruce had been too badly hurt to hide his tracks.

Clark breathed out, a puff of air crystallizing before him. If he hadn't woken up and found Bruce...

Shaking his head, Clark followed the trail, shuddering not from the cold, but from the neat line of dark spots that marred the snow's surface.

It was maybe a twenty minute walk as the crisp air burned at his lungs, but finally he came upon a burned mess of a clearing. There were no bodies, but he knew the signs of a fight well enough to know this one had been pretty spectacular. There must have been at least thirty armed Clotharians here, and Clark started to compose a very angry lecture in his head about Batman's hypocrisy on recklessness.

There was no ship to be found, but lots of hastily abandoned equipment. Bruce must have deployed scare tactics to spook them away, and it appeared effective if one didn't count getting stabbed and nearly frozen to death. Bruce probably didn't, but Clark did.

The equipment was probably for tracking - not overly helpful for a sick teammate. There was one that was flashing, and Clark looked over it carefully. Not a distress signal, but it was broadcasting something. Not to Clothar, either, from what Clark could tell, so he assumed that was Bruce's doing and left it.

It started to snow softly as Clark looked around, and he knew it would be a bad idea to stay much longer. The ship had been here for long enough to start to settle, probably waiting until they were sure Clark's powers had gone. There was an animal pen that seemed mostly destroyed, whatever having been in it long gone.

He was just about to turn around and head back when a small movement to the right caught his attention.

There was a strange-looking beast, small, but plump. It had yellow scales and small feathers on its tail, and a long, thick neck that lay low to the ground.

Clark recognized it as a common Clotharian domesticated livestock he'd been researching prior to the mission; he'd been checking to make sure he and John could eat it or if they'd have to stock provisions. The computer system at his Fortress had labeled the animal as safe for humans and Kryptonians to eat.

It also said the beast was only a little less intelligent than a chicken.

Clark approached it slowly, letting it smell him before he came near. It didn't startle, which proved it was used to humanoid forms. He weighed his options. The batarangs were sharp, but small, and he didn't have the strength to cut through a thick neck cleanly at the moment, not without a proper tool like an axe. Though reptilian, it didn't seem that different from a chicken if he was remembering the notes right.

With a sigh, Clark picked up the lizard by its hind legs and put his small-town farmer childhood to good use. He pulled down on the neck, then quickly twisted upward, listening for the small snap that told him he'd done it right.

Thankfully, it was quick, and he started to trek back to the cave to see if Bruce had woken up yet.

* * *

Bruce hadn't woken, though he wasn't sleeping restfully. Clark hung the lizard outside to let out the blood, then started on getting more water. He had enough to boil the meat, so he went back out and used the small knife from the supplies to skin and prepare the meal. It was oddly soothing, finally doing something _useful_ and not just sitting around helplessly watching Bruce struggle to breathe.

He cleaned the meat to the best of his ability, then threw it into the pot. It was mostly finished when Bruce started to cough violently.

"Easy," Clark said, remembering how Bruce had been steadying him not too long before. He helped Bruce to sit up, which appeared to have exhausted what little energy Bruce had as he rested his head against Clark's shoulder. His pale skin stood out against the dark suit Clark was still wearing as he drew in ragged breaths.

As he started to cough again, Clark held him steady, murmuring a few meaningless words of encouragement.

Finally, the coughing died down. "Bruce," Clark said, rubbing his friend's back. "How are you feeling?"

The glare he received was weak, but more vocal than any words Bruce could have said. Clark smiled in return, relief flooding through him even though they were still far from out of the woods. He hugged Bruce tighter, needing to reassure himself that Bruce was still warm and fighting.

Bruce muttered something about overly-concerned octopi, but Clark ignored it.

"You should try to eat something," Clark said instead, taking a bowl out from their supplies and pouring some of the soup in. Spoons must have been deemed unnecessary by Bruce, because there were none, but it wouldn't be that difficult to drink.

He had to keep his own hands from trembling as he helped Bruce eat. Batman was the only normal human on the team, but he was so _good_ that it was easy to forget. Seeing his best friend so weakened by illness - something Clark couldn't defeat even if he had his powers - made helpless fear grip his heart.

Bruce made a face as he tried the soup, pulling away. "What... is that?" he asked, coughing again.

"A Clotharian chicken," Clark said, figuring it was better than saying a lizard.

Narrowing his eyes, Bruce tried to peer into the soup. Clark helpfully held it lower. "Lizard?" Bruce asked.

"Yup."

Bruce sighed, which was interrupted by a cough and followed by a wheeze. "Bruce," Clark said, his lower lip bleeding again as he bit into it.

"Just let me eat," Bruce commanded.

Bruce didn't try to speak for the rest of the meal, probably preferring to just get it over with. He was flushed again by the time he had finished, and Clark gave him another Advil to help with the fever, which he drank down gratefully.

Clark tried the soup himself, after, nearly spitting it out as it reached his taste buds. "You're right. That's disgusting," he said, forcing the meal down.

The look Bruce gave him essentially translated to 'I'm always right,' which Clark let go for now considering the man was sick.

Putting the soup aside for later, Clark held up the alien comm device. "Is this safe to use?"

"Didn't have time," Bruce said, coughing. This time he looked more frustrated with himself than anything. There was movement under the blanket, until Bruce forced his hand out. "I..."

He was reaching for the device, Clark realized. "That can wait," Clark said, pulling the blanket up again. "Go back to sleep."

Bruce looked ready to argue, but his eyes were already closing. "I need..."

"Sleep," Clark repeated, remembering how great Bruce's fingers had felt in his hair. He decided to see if it worked both ways, fingers gliding through the sweat-slicked hair on Bruce's forehead.

Bruce was out again within minutes.

* * *

Bruce was getting worse even as Clark's concussion faded. Clark could only curl further around Bruce's fever-stricken body as the headaches lessened, leaving his thoughts free to run circles around how little he could do. There was no more Advil left, and Bruce's breathing grew worse every time the fever resurfaced. He hadn't really woken at all yesterday, and Clark wasn't sure how much more Bruce could take.

He looked at the communication device. It hadn't been rewired, and the Clotharians could probably listen in to every word once he turned it on.

Sitting up, Clark looked at the man in his arms. The fever brought a burning to his face that stood out even wrapped up in Clark's red cape. Every breath sounded like it was the labor of Heracles.

He was so close to losing this. Could he go back to the way things were before? To live without this infuriating man who had managed to squeeze his way into Clark's life and become his best friend, despite everything?

No. Clark didn't - he couldn't even _think_ about not having Bruce there. Wiping away the tears that overcame him, he hugged Bruce again. "I'm sorry," he whispered, smoothing Bruce's hair back before replacing the cowl and resetting the traps built into it. "Even if it means getting captured, I can't lose you. It's the only chance you have to survive this."

Clark took the communication device, considering his options. There was no guarantee the Clotharians would help Bruce, unless maybe Bruce was the _only_ hostage they could take.

Clark quickly shrugged on the Batsuit sans the cowl. There was no way a straight switch would work, but Clark didn't have to be near Bruce when they were found. And if he was caught...

He kept the batarang in his hand as he turned on the comm, setting the dial to a (hopefully) more League-friendly frequency. "Mayday. This is Superman. The Clotharian Empire set an ambush. Javelin down. Their ships are highly advanced. Please come in."

"'Bout time you called in," a familiar voice said, and Clark let out a shaky laugh. "Where the hell are you guys? We've been looking all over."

"Seventh planet of the Gordenin system. The Clotharians are probably listening in."

"That's the system we thought you got lost in," Green Lantern replied. "We're close by."

"The Javelin doesn't stand a chance against their ships, John. They set a trap for Green Lanterns-"

"Way ahead of you, Superman. Trust me. I brought some friends that will take care of this."

Clark assumed that meant the Green Lantern Corps was on the move and angry. "Just sit back and relax. Let us do the work," Green Lantern said.

"Batman needs medical attention. Now," Clark said, knowing if the Lanterns were close, it didn't matter if the Clotharians heard.

"Copy that," Green Lantern said, his voice more grim. "We'll make a change of plans and pick you up first then. Hold tight."

Clark didn't put down the batarang, knowing the Clotharians might still be closer. He may not have his powers, but he wasn't as hopeless as Batman believed him to be in a fight without them.

He looked back at Bruce. The fever made his sleep restless and the cowl probably didn't help matters, but Clark knew what Bruce would say to that. "Hang on just a bit longer," Clark pleaded, before turning to the mouth of the cave. He would hold them off here.

It was an hour before Clark saw anything, and then he only had an instant's warning before he dropped behind a rock as guns blasted at him.

What was it Tim had called it? A gizmo. He needed a gizmo he'd seen Batman use from time to time, but finding the right pouch was almost an exercise in frustration.

Finally! He found the right one, pushing the button as mini explosives flew towards the guns. He didn't know how Bruce and Lucius managed to make them seek the right targets, but he heard the click as they attached themselves to the weapons. He gave it a few more seconds before pressing the second button. The small explosives and yelps told him they had made their mark.

Taking a brief look around to mark positions, Clark threw a much easier to find smoke bomb. Once he heard them coughing, he held his breath and made a beeline for the nearest Clotharian. He wasn't as good as Bruce, but he managed to take down three of them before the smoke disappeared, the fourth getting in a hit that sent Clark reeling back. Ignoring the blood on his lip, he regained his balance and ducked to avoid another blow. An uppercut took out the fourth Clotharian, and he looked around as the last of the smoke cleared. There had been six shooters, hadn't there?

Pain erupted in the back of his head. Clark stumbled forward, falling to the ground as he tried furiously to clear his head. He felt hands pushing his shoulders down and he jerked back, trying to knock his attackers off despite his dizziness.

"Stay down if you want your friend to live," a gruff voice said from behind him.

Clark froze, breathing in several times before opening his eyes. The sixth Clotharian had hauled Bruce up, placing a knife at his throat.

Clotharians were humanoid, a race of dark-haired people who never ventured into sunlight if they could help it. It left them pale, paler than even Bruce, who Clark was convinced a couple of weeks in the Kansas sun would do him a lot of good.

Against that pale hand, Bruce was flushed, the fever having returned full-force. Any hope Clark had of Bruce being able to fight off his opponent was dashed as he saw his friend struggling weakly, but not really aware enough to do any damage. Without the blanket, Bruce only had the pants of his undersuit to protect him from the cold, and Clark felt his heart stop for a moment as Bruce's breathing became imperceptible.

"You're killing him!" Clark said, looking for anyway to turn the situation, but there was none. His concussion flared up and his sense of balance was gone. Bruce would be dead before he could manage to stand.

"We do only need one hostage," the Clotharian behind him said. "You are the more valuable one. And with-"

The Clotharian holding the knife to Bruce yelped as a green light shot the blade out of his hand. A green bubble kept Bruce from falling into the snow and a scream from behind him let Clark know he was no longer at the Clotharian's mercy.

He was, however, at the mercy of his stomach.

"Why is it that villains always talk so - Whoa!" Clark felt John's hands supporting him as he retched into the red snow. What little of the rations he'd eaten forced its way back up and burned at his throat.

"You okay there, Blue?" John asked, his green eyes carefully checking Clark over. He raised an eyebrow at the suit, but didn't say anything.

"I hate concussions," Clark moaned once he stopped heaving.

John helped him up, steadying him as Clark's balance was more on the wrong side of vertigo. "I hear ya," John said, then more grimly, "Is _he_ alright? He doesn't look good."

Clark forced his eyes up to see Bruce still encased in the green bubble. "He needs..." _Focus_. Bruce needed him to focus, and not on the trickling sensation he could feel on the back of his head that was probably blood. "His breathing is shallow - wheezing. Fever keeps coming back. He hasn't woken up since yesterday."

John nodded, his hand going to his ear. "What's the status on Clothar?" he asked, and Clark wondered how he was supposed to know that, but then realized John must be speaking to the other Lanterns. It was strange, not being able to hear the reply, even when he wasn't hooked up to the tech. He could always hear the reply. "Copy that. You guys mop up. I'm taking our boys home."

"Home?" Clark asked, stumbling over the word.

"Closer than Oa, and you both need medical attention fast," John said, the bubble growing until it enveloped Clark as well. It was warm in there, Clark realized with relief. "Keep him breathing till we get there."

Clark didn't nod, knowing from experience how much that hurt. Instead, he took Bruce's bare hand, checking over his neck to make sure the knife hadn't opened a cut. Bruce couldn't afford to lose more blood. "Just a little longer, B," he said, wishing the cowl were off so he could try to soothe the fever away.

* * *

It didn't take long in the solar system for Clark to start to feel better, which was good, because swallowing down the bile was starting to get difficult and he wasn't sure he could deal with throwing up while in a green bubble. John had enough things to worry about. By the time they got to the Watchtower, Clark felt some of his strength returning, enough to carry Bruce to the med bay once Green Lantern dropped them off at the air lock.

J'onn and Shayera were already in the med bay. "Green Lantern filled us in," J'onn said as Clark set Bruce down.

"I've still got some of my medical supplies from Thanagar when I was stranded here," Hawkgirl said. "I don't know if they'd help, but if it's an alien virus..."

"Thanks," Clark said as J'onn started the analysis.

"You look like you could use a bit more sun," Shayera said with a frown.

Clark didn't take his eyes off Bruce, his x-ray vision fizzing in and out, showing two cracked ribs even as they came up on the screen. "Later," he said as exhaustion and fear set into his bones. He couldn't leave now, not until he knew Bruce would be alright.

Hawkgirl and Green Lantern traded worried glances, but she didn't try again. They waited in silence, only the sounds of the computers and Bruce's breathing resonating through the room. Finally, the computer pinged. "It is alien," J'onn murmured, shaking his head. "Not one I'm familiar with."

"Pneumonia," John said, snapping his fingers. "It's the exact same symptoms, just a strand we haven't seen yet. Let's _not_ let this one down to Earth."

J'onn brought up the information on Pneumonia and hummed. "They are indeed similar."

"Bacteria or Virus?" Shayera asked, sorting through a small box on the table.

"Bacteria, if I'm reading this right," John said. "Do you think we can wait for Dr. Thompkins to get up here?"

J'onn shook his head, still looking at the read-outs. "His body is going to give out soon."

"Just a little bit, no more than five milliliters," Shayera said. "I know it works on most bacteria strains the Thanagarians have come across, even if it hasn't proved useful against Earth bacteria. I don't know if it'll work though. We're more warriors than doctors."

Superman bit his lip, this time his skin invulnerable enough to not make a dent. "We'll just have to hope it works," he said.

Clark sat down in a nearby chair, not moving as J'onn administered the drug. Dr. Thompkins came in after a while, tutting at Clark to get some sunshine, but letting him be. She put an oxygen mask on Bruce to help him breathe, saying there wasn't much that they could do beyond what they'd already done. She did bully Clark into changing into his normal suit and a quick shower, but he couldn't stay away for long.

For a while, Clark was left alone, which was good. He wasn't in the mood for talking. He was assured it wouldn't have interrupted Bruce's sleep with the medicine he was on, but it felt wrong speaking while Bruce was so still.

He barely heard the door open, paying it no mind. The others had been coming in to check, and he usually wasn't required to talk when they did. But no one walked around into his vision, and it was a few minutes before he heard anything else.

"How..."

Clark snapped up at the voice. Nightwing stood awkwardly in the door like he wasn't sure if he was allowed to be there. Clark didn't have as much experience meeting the older Robin, though he knew Dick and Bruce's relationship was strained at times.

Nightwing cleared his throat and tried again. "How is he?"

Nightwing looked like he couldn't decide between coming in further or sinking into the shadows like his mentor. Clark had always gotten the feeling that Dick was confident, so this was a new emotion from the young man, this hesitance.

Clark stood, and Nightwing instinctively fell back a step. But he stood his ground as Clark came closer. "Dr. Thompkins said there's a chance he might not wake up, but she's pretty sure he'll pull through," Clark said as he reached out to Nightwing's shoulder, squeezing it gently. "Batman can be stubborn."

Nightwing laughed; something about it sounded like he desperately needed to. "You don't know the half of it," the young man said with a slight edge of bitterness.

He hadn't shaken Clark off though, so he used the opportunity to guide the young man into the room. "Where's Robin?" Clark asked.

Running a hand through his hair, Nightwing shook his head and allowed Clark to lead him to the chair he'd just vacated. "He's not allowed at the Watchtower yet. I... didn't know how bad it would be."

Clark nodded. He'd never had a younger brother, but he could understand wanting to shield someone from certain sights.

"Computer," Nightwing said suddenly. "Security code Alpha 599 Sigma 8. Lock down this room until further notice."

Clark had barely heard the locks click before Nightwing took off his mask. Clark noticed all of the cameras were dead, and he wondered if that code worked for anyone, or if it was exclusive to the Bat clan.

"Damn it, Bruce," Dick said, closing his eyes. There were dark bruises under his eyes, making him look far older than he had any right to be.

Clark pulled up another chair as Dick got a hold of himself. He could see Dick's eyes flickering along the new wound once they were open again. Dick reached out, then pulled his hand back before sighing and finally taking Bruce's hand in his.

"Did something happen between you and Bruce recently?" Clark asked. Bruce hadn't acted like it.

"I haven't been back. Not since..."

Oh.

They'd both been hurt at the time, but now that Clark wasn't trying to haul a nearly unconscious Batman through the snow, Clark realized Bruce had only given a response about Tim when Clark had asked. It was hard to imagine Dick having a problem with it, however. From everything he'd heard about Dick, he couldn't picture the young man taking such a thing as sexual orientation badly. "Why not?" Clark asked.

"I was angry," Dick said, sighing again as he slumped down. "And I know it's stupid, and it's not that he was keeping the secret for... I know it was hard for him. But it was just one more lie that he told me. Then he spent the next three weeks pretending to jump into bed with anything in a skirt and I just... I didn't want to understand why he wouldn't have said anything. Then the press started up with rumors about... " Dick flushed, his face bright red as he forced out the words, "About his relationship with me and Tim as Robin. Then I was _furious_ at them for everything that was going on, but I still couldn't come by. I was angry at myself for never noticing, for not... He doesn't deserve any of that."

"Dick," Clark said, testing out the name. He wasn't sure how he'd become Dick's confidant, but he knew how important Dick was to Bruce. "It's not your fault. None of this is."

"I know, I know. I said it was stupid, and I don't blame him, not really. I just..." Then Dick laughed again, with the same bitter guilt as before. "I've become _him_. I didn't want to deal with it, so I kept pushing him away."

"You've admitted it, which actually means you've surpassed him," Clark said dryly.

For a moment, Dick just blinked at him. Then he doubled over with genuine laughter that stole a smile from Clark as well. "You..." he gasped out. "I see why he likes you."

The admission surprised Clark, hitting somewhere soft and deep inside his heart. Of course he _knew_ Bruce was his friend and that Bruce liked him, but to hear Dick say that... Bruce was never an overly demonstrative man. The fact that Dick figured it out meant Bruce hadn't bothered to hide it.

He smiled broadly at the gift Dick had unknowingly given him. "You also laugh more," Clark said, continuing the conversation and receiving a weak smile in return. "But I don't think you only picked up Bruce's bad habits. From what I hear, you've done a lot of good on your own too."

Dick blushed faintly, looking away. "It's not enough," Dick said softly as he put the domino mask back on.

"Nightwing-"

"I should get back to Gotham," Nightwing said, standing up.

"You could stay," Clark suggested. "I think he'd like to see you."

Nightwing wavered, but shook his head. "I can't leave the kid alone for that long. But I'll... I'll come back later. Can you...?"

Clark looked up, waiting for Nightwing to put the words together. "Or one of the others. I know you're all busy and he won't thank me for it, but can you stay with him?"

 _Since I can't_ , Clark heard. "We'll be here," he promised. Because even if Superman was needed somewhere, they would make sure someone was with Bruce. "And next time you can bring Tim up."

Nightwing nodded, then gave the unlock code and left.

It was only a few minutes later when Diana came in, this time Clark making more of an effort to be aware of his surroundings. She nodded at him, but didn't speak. Instead, she claimed the chair Dick had left and waited with him. They didn't really need words at that point, not between the three of them. Bruce promised he'd keep going. That was enough for the both of them.

* * *

Bruce woke up a day later, though it was only for a short time. It was enough to convince everyone he was out of the woods, and that life had to go back to normal. The League took turns sitting with him, because Clark did have two jobs to get back to and Dick was right. Bruce _wouldn't_ thank him for hovering.

He did make more excuses than the others to sneak in, however. Diana didn't bother with excuses, which was just as well. They both made themselves scarce when Robin bound through the room to hug Bruce, Nightwing trailing behind him at a more sedate pace, letting the boys have some space.

"Are you alright?" Diana asked after the door locked behind them, cutting the Bat clan out of sight.

"I'm fine. All back to normal," Clark said. And he was. The concussion hadn't lasted more than a few seconds under the yellow sun, and his powers had returned to their full strength. He'd even saved Metropolis twice since coming back, no problem now that he could fly and use his super strength.

"That's not what I meant," Diana said. "You saved him, remember?"

Clark looked at the stars, billions of years of light only just now being acknowledged by the human race. "I nearly didn't. If I'd had my powers-"

"You're more than your powers, Superman," Diana said. John and Shayera had said the same thing. It didn't settle the ache in his chest like it should have, so Diana continued. "You kept him alive even without them."

He shouldn't have had to, Clark didn't say. Diana frowned as if she heard it anyway, but Clark was saved by the Flash zipping by. "Hey, Wondy. Supes. How's Dark and Gloomy doing?"

"You could go in and see for yourself," Diana said, raising an eyebrow.

The Flash heaved a great sigh, looking down at the floor as he rubbed at an unseen spot on the ground with his toe. "He's going to yell at me."

"He won't be that bad," Clark said. Sure Bruce could be standoffish at the best of times, and Flash was probably going to get a fairly long lecture on keeping private details off the comm (which he'd already received twice from him and Diana), but Flash looked like Bruce would bite his head off faster than Killer Croc.

"But I..." Flash said.

Clark and Diana shared a look. "Just remember next time: no private details during a fight," Clark said. Bruce definitely hadn't seemed that upset when Clark apologized. "I'm sure he knows you never meant any of this to happen."

"It did happen though," Flash said quietly. "It did, and now everyone's saying - a lot of things."

Flash didn't have to elaborate on that regard.

"You support him, don't you?" Diana asked. "Now that you understand?"

"Of course!" Flash said, head snapping up. "He can - I mean - he's scary, but he's a good guy and it doesn't matter who he likes. Or, well, doesn't like. You know what I mean."

"Then just let him know that," Diana said.

"And work towards being more understanding next time," Clark added.

"Right. Yeah. I'll do that." The Flash looked towards the door to the infirmary. Before either of them could tell him the Robins were visiting, he looked at his wrist, which didn't have a watch over the costume. "But, ah, I'm really late right now and I left the oven on, so later."

He zipped off without another word.

"Think we'll have to intervene?" Clark asked.

"Give it a while longer," Diana said. "He needs to work up the courage for himself."

That seemed as sound advice as any. The Flash was brave enough. Hopefully time would let him act on it. If only the same could be said for Clark.

* * *

"Are you really cutting apples?" Bruce asked some time later.

Clark looked up. "I thought you were sleeping."

With his super hearing, Clark managed to hear some unflattering things about nosy, over-concerned superheroes with nothing better to do. He couldn't help the small smile at that, putting down the apple and pushing forward a bowl of soup. "Ma says to eat up."

Bruce raised an eyebrow. "Your mother made me chicken noodle soup?"

"She was worried you weren't eating enough when she heard you were sick." His mother had taken a liking to Batman, despite not knowing the man under the cowl. She insisted he never got enough sun in that dark cave, and Clark had to pass along all sorts of baked goods from time to time. Clark always wondered if his mother sensed Bruce's personal tragedy and was trying to make up for it by mothering the vigilante and his kids by extension.

Bruce, thankfully, never argued with Ma Kent. The one time he'd tried, he'd still ended up in full costume at the farm, having tea as Ma scolded him for not dropping by soon enough. He ate the soup, asked Clark to pass along his compliments, and laid back. Small things were still exhausting, and Bruce's energy drain left him crankier than usual. The rest of the League had learned to pay it no mind.

"Bruce," Clark said, unsure how to start this conversation. It was something he'd been thinking about a lot while Bruce was recovering. Bruce had nearly given up on that snow planet - not once, but several times.

He could feel Bruce's attention on him, knowing his friend was mentally debating if he wanted to shut the conversation down before it started. "You don't have to worry," he said, articulating what Clark couldn't quite manage. "I'm not suicidal."

Clark went back to his apple, cutting it in two once he finished peeling it. "Sometimes I wonder what goes on in that great big head of yours," he said, not looking up. "Because you've got some strange notions about acceptable losses all of a sudden."

Bruce didn't say anything to that, and Clark glanced up to see he was looking away. "I was hurt and tired, Clark," he said finally. "I'm only human."

"You've been hurt and tired before," Clark said reasonably. "I've seen you walk off wounds like that plenty of times. I've seen what _Gotham_ has done to you. This time was different."

Bruce grunted. "Point still stands," he said, a weariness to his voice that Clark had never heard before.

Clark understood then. It was humbling, hearing Bruce admit to him that sometimes even Batman needed to be carried through the day, the weakness of his armor showing glimpses of a very melancholy and battered man underneath.

Wiping his hand on a napkin, Clark set the apple aside. Hesitantly, he reached out and took Bruce's hand.

"If you've got a speech planned, get it over with," Bruce grumbled.

It startled a chuckle out of him, and Clark squeezed his hand. Bruce's heartbeat was steady, and his breathing was almost back to normal. Clark could still remember how hot Bruce had burned under the red sun. "I didn't..." Clark started, looking down. "I didn't want to think about life without you."

"You would move on," Bruce said simply, as if that were the end of the matter.

"I don't want to have to," Clark said, making eye contact. Bruce looked startled by the admission, but Clark barreled on before the man could think of something to say. "I want to bother you in the cave and piss you off when I'm reckless. I want you to rile me up when you visit the _Planet_ and ignore me when I'm yelling at you for keeping secrets. I want to meet up for a quiet coffee and just talk about Jimmy and Lois, and hear you talk about Tim and Dick. I want to keep looking up at a League meeting and wishing you were sitting in that empty chair as a full member. To smile on the rare occasion that I look up and see you in it.

"You're my best friend," Clark said, his voice breaking. "I don't _want_ to move on. No matter what else happens, you're still... There's no one who could mean what you do to me, Bruce. No one."

Bruce broke eye contact, a small flush on his face. "That was sappier than even I thought you would go."

"Well, it's true," Clark said defensively. He made to pull his hand away and eat the apple before it started to brown, but Bruce gripped his hand tight.

"Clark, you know I..." Bruce started.

"I know," Clark replied, a soft smile tilting his lips. Bruce may not always be good at saying it, but Clark remembered the fingers in his hair as Bruce stayed by him until he was calm. He remembered Bruce's cape under his head as he dozed. "I know."

Bruce sighed, closing his eyes. "I'm not good at sappy speeches."

"That's what you've got me for," Clark replied.

There was a hint of a smile on Bruce's face. "So I've got you now?"

"Always."

Bruce didn't open his eyes again, but he squeezed Clark's hand. Clark didn't let go even as Bruce fell back asleep. He could eat his apple one-handed.

An hour later there was a small tap on the door. Bruce roused, looking over at Clark who shrugged. Anyone who knew Bruce's identity would have just come in.

He helped Bruce pull on the cowl, which absolutely looked ridiculous without the rest of the uniform, though Clark didn't mention that. Then he went to open the door.

Flash stood outside, staring at the ground intently as if it held the answer to the universe. "Um. Hi. I've just come around to - you know. Thought I'd check in on Bats and that kind of thing," he said at a speed that Clark could barely make heads or tails of.

Bruce understood the gist well enough, if not the actual words. "You can come in," he said dryly. "And speak slower."

Clark placed a hand on the Flash's shoulder, squeezing it gently. He left them alone, knowing Bruce wasn't actually angry at the kid. Flash was always the hardest on himself.

Clark checked in with J'onn, chatting with him a while before heading back to Metropolis. Two bank robberies and a car crash later, the Flash zipped in, giving the girl her kitten before Clark could fly up. "Saving kittens? Really?" Flash asked.

"I saw it before the fire department did," Clark said with a shrug. He knew he wasn't the only member of the League that did it. He'd even seen Bruce cradling a tiny kitten against him from time to time, but Bruce had a little known soft spot for small children when they were distressed.

"Can we - um - talk?" Flash asked.

"Up there work?" Clark asked, pointing towards the top of the _Daily Planet_.

The Flash took off, running up the building's stairs and startling Cat Grant enough that she dropped her coffee. He made a mental note to bring her more later. Cat gave Lois a hard time when she didn't have her coffee.

Clark flew up, getting to the top just as Flash opened the door to the roof. "He wasn't angry," Flash said.

"No, he wasn't," Clark replied, already knowing that part.

"I was expecting - He should be angry, right? Why wasn't he angry?" Flash asked.

"You're being more careful now, right?" Clark asked in return. He knew the answer, as both he and Diana had been monitoring things.

"No gossiping or talking about League members' private lives during a fight, no matter how boring the enemy."

Clark smiled in spite of himself. "Then I think he knows you've beat yourself up plenty already."

The Flash deflated, his shoulders hunching over as he kicked the ground. "It's not... You've seen the things they're saying about him, Supes. It's all over the news. Even the Westboro Baptist Church is calling him _unnatural_ , and what is up with that? You _have_ to have sex, but only with women that you've married?"

Clark had seen the news, and written some of it too, though the Flash didn't know that. He leaned back against the railing, looking up at the _Daily Planet_ logo, and shook his head. "There's not much we can do about bigotry. We can't punch it, not like Brainiac or Reverse Flash. It's always going to be there, and it comes from _us_ too, not just from other people. But we can learn. We can be better. And maybe, we can also teach other people along the way."

"That's... depressingly realistic," Flash said. "I thought superheroes were supposed to save the day and right wrongs."

"We are. This will just always have to go slowly," Clark said. The kid still looked down, so Clark searched for a more immediate solution that could help. "Are you hungry?"

"Uh, you know who you're talking to, right?" Flash said. Which, point.

"Then let's go get some Chinese food. I know a place Batman really likes, and we can bring him back some dumplings," Clark said.

"Batman likes Chinese take-out?" Flash asked, looking like he'd just swallowed a fish.

"I never said that," Clark said with a grin. "Race you to Hong Kong?"

"We're going all the way to Hong Kong just to pick up some real Chinese food for Bats?"

"Can you think of a better reason to go?"

Flash cocked his head to the side, then shook his head. "Not really. But I - Hey! What's that?"

Clark looked where the Flash had pointed, seeing nothing. "What-"

"Last one there's a rotten egg," Flash said, racing off.

Huffing, Clark let Flash have his head start. It was worth it to see Bruce's surprise when they brought him back some dim sum and milk tea.

* * *

After a few days to monitor him to make sure there wasn't a relapse, Bruce quietly retired back to Wayne Manor. Clark was privately glad that he knew Bruce's identity, because he could still sneak by and check on him. If sneaking included being caught by the butler and asked politely to stop hovering and just come inside for tea.

Not everyone was as good at sneaking as the Bat Clan.

Bruce was in his father's library when Clark sheepishly stepped inside. He wore a dark turtleneck and jeans, curled up on the couch by the fire as he read. Bruce was far from a small man, but somehow, curled up against the armrest with his dark hair unstyled and tumbling into his eyes, Bruce managed to look smaller. Younger. There were some lines that could never be erased from Bruce's face - lines of pain and telling of years beyond what they should be - but in the firelight, they looked softer. More vulnerable.

Clark didn't want to disturb him, so he waited in the doorway, leaning against the frame. He wished more time could be spent like this. The never-ending fight so rarely left them with peaceful moments.

There was something lonely about Bruce, sitting there on the big couch by himself. It was that which finally let Clark move forward, feeling awkward in his red and blue suit, too bright and colorful among the dusty tomes.

"I was wondering how long you were going to stand there," Bruce said, not looking up from his book.

"Didn't want to interrupt," Clark replied. He took a seat next to Bruce, leaning over to see the book's cover. " _The Odyssey_?"

"It's soothing," Bruce said, offering no further explanation when Clark raised an eyebrow. "I'm fine, by the way."

"I see that," Clark said, and it was true. Though there was still a pallor to Bruce's face and the occasional off-sound when he breathed, Bruce looked better. His eyes were bright and keen, not lost to the fever, and the turtleneck covered any of the remaining healing bruises. With his x-ray vision, Clark could see that the gash on Bruce's side was properly bandaged and his ribs were healing. But he still lingered, not wanting to leave just yet. The moment of tranquility was more addictive than Clark could pull himself away from.

"Diana says you've been trying to get at the Kryptonite," Bruce said as he shut his book.

Clark winced. He thought he'd been sneakier about it. "A while ago you said... We could make a low-level field out of the Kryptonite. For training."

Bruce raised an eyebrow. "I thought you didn't want it."

"Yeah, well, you were right," Clark said, running a hand through his hair. "I _am_ useless without my powers."

Bruce snorted. "You weren't useless."

"Yeah, yeah. I've heard it from everyone else," Clark muttered more bitterly than he'd meant to.

"What did you hear?" Bruce asked curiously.

"My powers aren't what makes me a hero and useful," Clark said, shaking his head. The sentiment never quite made him feel better.

There was a small "hm" from Bruce, and Clark looked over to see him staring at the cover of _The Odyssey_ , tracing his fingers along the drawing. "That's not true," Bruce said.

"What?"

"Your powers do make you who you are," Bruce said, toying with the edge of the cover. "They've shaped who you were ever since you first saw the yellow sun."

"You think I would have been different without my powers?" Clark asked.

"Undoubtedly," Bruce said. "Personality-wise, you might not be that different, but would you have left the farm if you weren't looking for a bigger crowd to fit into, or could you have fit in there?"

"I..." Clark thought about it, unsure. He might still have left, but Bruce was right. It _would_ have been different.

"They shape us," Bruce said. "Make us into who we are. It's okay to feel uncomfortable when an essential part of you is taken away. It's just not _all_ that you are."

Clark considered that, looking down at his hands. He'd often wondered what his life would be like without his powers. He knew Bruce sometimes thought about what would have happened if his parents hadn't been killed. But he wondered...

"Do you ever think about what your life would be like if you weren't..." Clark cut himself off, half-horrified by what he'd been about to ask. "I mean - Bruce, that wasn't-"

"It's alright," Bruce said, a small smile on his face. He tilted his head to the side, sighing. "It's... hard to think about, to be honest. I know what it _feels_ like physically, thanks to Poison Ivy, but even that felt..."

Bruce swallowed and shivered. Clark reached out, touching his shoulder. It opened a new kind of horror in him, thinking of what Ivy's perfumes could do to a man against his will.

"It's just... strange," Bruce said, shaking off the concern. "So much of the world makes no sense at all. I can act like a flirt, but flirting is... I still don't understand _why_ people do it? Or why find me attractive because I'm wearing a suit or look like I'm disheveled. Or why Harvey could date one girl, then sleep with another behind her back, saying he couldn't help himself? It's hard to imagine feeling like that is _normal_. It's so... different. Weird."

He sounded frustrated, and Clark was having as hard a time wrapping his head around what Bruce was saying as his friend seemed to be having. Clark thought back to the conversation that started it all, the Flash egging Bruce on, saying that if he'd lighten up and get laid they'd all be happier.

_"Why would having sex change my opinions on your poor training results?" Clark could see that Bruce was getting annoyed, but Clark knew stepping in would get his head bitten off, so he kept watch._

_"Come on, Bats," Flash said, slinging an arm over Batman's shoulder. Batman glared. "Seriously, even **you** have to lighten up during the afterglow. Come on, I know there's plenty of girls that like the dark and brooding look."_

_"I don't want to have sex," Bruce said._

_Clark stood at that, not sure what set him off, but knowing something was **off** with the way Bruce had said that._

_"Everyone wants sex," Flash said, making a few of the other Leaguers laugh. "Don't tell me you're still a vir-"_

_A dark glare cut Flash off before Clark could, and Clark figured it was just as well. "Alright, jeez," Flash said, moving several feet away. "Can't force people to have fun."_

_"Flash has a point," John said, glancing at Shayera. "It does mellow a guy out."_

_"No complaints from me either," Shayera said, stretching her wings._

_Bruce stared at them, the rest of the League all more or less agreeing as the conversation devolved into how... 'relaxing' sex could be. Clark cast a few glances Bruce's way, but he still couldn't put a finger on what his friend was reacting to._

_"Still cold?" Shayera asked Bruce at one point. "Nothing phases you, does it?"_

_"Why do you want sex so much?" Bruce asked them, shaking his head. "It's not **that** fun. All of you like it?"_

_The silence that filled the meeting room had stiffened Bruce's back. Clark knew that was his cue then. Bruce **had** been relaxed, at least, as relaxed as he could be in the Batsuit. He'd been quietly doing paper work while listening as the others laughed and traded sex tips, mostly tuning them out, but the feeling of safety had been there. Now that was gone. Clark wasn't sure even Bruce had realized how far down his guard had gone._

_"Batman," Diana said carefully, looking at Clark for a moment to check, though Clark had no idea what she was looking for. "Are you saying you don't like sex?"_

_The result was Bruce stating it was none of the League's business before packing up and leaving._

"I've heard other people say that sex doesn't make sense when I was doing my research," Clark said finally, mulling over the implications. "I never realized what a fundamental difference it would make on someone's worldview."

Bruce shrugged. "Intellectually, I know the reasons. I know chemistry and biology, and I know _people_ and how they work. Mostly criminals, yes, but I've trained myself to read people. It's still hard to wrap my head around _why_ sometimes. Or... why it never happens to me."

"You know we like you, even if that never does happen to you, right?" Clark said. "Because you're right. My powers are part of me. But people like me anyway."

"Not quite the same thing," Bruce said, though he seemed more amused than he let on.

"Still true though," Clark said, knowing Bruce had his family in Gotham and his friends at the Watchtower. Maybe it wasn't a lot compared to the rest of the world's anger, but they would support Bruce no matter what.

"I'll put you on the training roster without powers for Tuesdays. We'll see how much you like me then," Bruce said, going back to _The Odyssey_.

"You'll always be my best friend," Clark said. Even if, as Bruce said, there would be times when the man could be particularly vexing. He was about to say so when the bell rang, the sound ringing clearly through the manor.

"You're expecting a visitor?" Clark asked.

Bruce grunted, then pushed at Clark. Baffled, Clark moved until he was on the other side of the couch and Bruce was in the middle. "You could have asked," Clark said mildly.

"He's already up in the library, Miss," he heard Alfred say as Bruce continued to look progressively grumpier.

"Thank you, Alfred." Diana? "Here, let me take the tray up for you."

"Diana knows who you are?" Clark asked, wondering when that had happened. Bruce had said she was close to guessing his sexuality, but he hadn't realized she had learned his identity.

"She was persistent on finishing a dance," Bruce said. Then, as the door opened, "I'm fine, Princess."

Clark realized that maybe overly worried teammates were probably the reason for Bruce's scowl.

"Ah, Superman," Diana said, smiling at him as she set down a tray with a pot of tea and three cups. "I wondered who the third cup was for."

Clark was both glad and a little put-out that he was still in uniform. It meant he didn't have to worry about his identity, but he also wouldn't have minded if she knew.

"It's jasmine tea," Diana said as she poured a cup for Bruce, then Clark, then herself. "Alfred knows I'm fond of it."

"You drop by often?" Clark asked, feeling like he was missing something.

"I don't need to be checked on constantly," Bruce growled.

"Of course not," Diana said, leaning over and kissing Bruce on the cheek. "I'd ask how you are, but I think you're going for grumpy right now."

She must have started coming by after the news hit, Clark realized. It explained why Bruce was putting on more of a show for her than he had for Clark. It also explained why Clark had been pushed over to the other side of the couch as Diana gracefully claimed the spot Bruce had been in earlier. This was almost routine by now.

"What are you reading tonight?" Diana asked, peering at the cover much like Clark had.

Bruce's reading choice made a lot more sense.

"Will you be staying tonight as well, Kal?" she asked.

Clark wasn't entirely sure what this was. Bruce would have mentioned if it had been a date, he thought, but he didn't feel like a third wheel. Bruce and Diana were close, but Clark wasn't sure how Bruce managed his actual relationships, if it _was_ that kind of relationship to begin with.

But Diana was inviting him to stay, and Bruce only gave a low grumble, so he nodded hesitantly. He drank his jasmine tea, reading over Bruce's shoulder as Diana turned the pages and occasionally pointed to a phrase to say the original Greek. Bruce obediently repeated it each time, rolling the words on his tongue until he said them right and she nodded at him.

It had been ages since he had read _The Odyssey_ , and it was slow-going between Diana and Bruce arguing over the translation, but Clark wouldn't have traded it for the world. He thought of how Diana had kissed Bruce on the cheek, remembering his own adrenaline-fueled kiss to Bruce's temple in the cave. It struck him how nice it would be, to maybe be comfortable enough to lean down and do it again. Not tonight, or maybe any time soon, but one day.

Until then, curling up in front of the fire with his two best friends and an ageless story was good enough.

* * *

There was something - and it wasn't quite an _itch_ per se - but there was something that still hadn't, for lack of a better word, settled. Clark and Diana continued visiting Bruce and the media frenzy did actually die down once a new scandal managed to take its place, but there was something still _off_.

It was frustrating, because Bruce wasn't any different. He was back with the League now, or at least as much as he had been before, but something wasn't right. He asked Diana about it once, but she couldn't name the feeling any better than he could. 'Normal' just wasn't enough any more, for whatever reason.

"I'm _fine_ ," Bruce growled as Clark touched down next to him on a gargoyle. "Are you two ever going to stop hovering?"

"I can't come by and say hi?" Clark asked, sitting down on the roof with his legs dangling to see Gotham City at night. She was an empyrean old city, dark and dangerous, but with a hidden beauty at its heart if you looked hard enough.

Bruce narrowed his eyes at Clark, which Clark just returned with a smile. "It's actually fun when we drop by. You're stuck with us now," Clark said, by way of explanation.

Bruce huffed, which was likely the most of a laugh that Clark could get out of him in the costume. He didn't say anything after that, but he didn't need to. The soft breeze of the northern wind spoke enough for them in the companionable brushes of their capes.

"Quiet night," Clark said after a while, watching the lights of the theater district shine.

Bruce hummed softly in acknowledgement. "We could head-"

Clark stilled as he heard the scream, trying to pinpoint the source, but Bruce was already moving. Mugging. Not far. Clark could have stopped it in a second, but then he wouldn't get any jasmine tea for two weeks at least, so he held back.

Watching Bruce in action was always a treat. Clark could admit that when it came to grace, no amount of training could ever allow him to compete with Bruce's fluid movements. They were economical and swift, only as much force necessary to end the fight, controlled to the last inch of his tightly coiled body.

Clark floated down, picking up the discarded gun and crushing it between his fingers as Batman ended the fight. Handcuffs were out as the Bat made sure the criminal wouldn't try again, and Clark checked on the victim.

She was a young girl with brown skin, her hair a cascade of curls. "Are you alright, miss?" he asked, helping her stand.

"I'm okay," she said, brushing her pants off. Clark realized she was very trendily dressed with her skinny jeans and jacket, probably on her way home from some kind of party with friends. "Is he - Is Batman still here?" she asked.

Clark looked at the shadows where Batman had faded to, unsure of how much Bruce wanted to interact. When he looked back to the girl, he was surprised to see she was unzipping her jacket and stepping towards the shadows.

"Um, thank you," the girl said, taking a deep breath. "And I'm sorry. For all the things they're calling you."

Bruce materialized from the shadows, slowly moving closer to the girl. She held her ground, looking up at him with a half-formed question on her lips. Clark moved to stand beside Bruce and he saw it, his eyes going wide. On her shirt was the Bat symbol, but instead of the usual black and yellow, it was striped with black, grey, white, and purple.

"Is it true?" she asked finally. "Are you really...?"

Clark held his breath, unable to break the moment. The unsettled feeling returned, though he was no closer to finding the source. The silence lasted long enough that Clark almost thought Bruce wouldn't answer.

"Yes," Bruce said finally, not loud enough to break, but too soft for the emotion his voice held. "I'm... asexual."

Had he ever heard Bruce say the word? Clark had written it often enough, but he didn't think he'd ever heard Bruce actually admit to identifying as asexual. That was the last piece that Clark could see brilliantly now as it slotted into place. He wondered how often Bruce had said that phrase before, if at all, thinking back to how Bruce had said the word 'normal'. It was _normal_ that was the problem. Normal was limiting, restrictive, and couldn’t encompass all that Bruce was. It couldn’t define him. It never had and it never could.

The girl didn't hesitate after that. Clark took a step towards her as she lunged at Bruce suddenly, halting as he realized she was clinging to Bruce with a steel-like hug. Bruce stood stiffly in the girl's arms, unsure of what to do.

"I'm sorry," she said again. "It's been so _awful_ , but I'm so happy. I was so alone, but now... I know there's someone else like me. You're _real_. You are real."

She was crying as Bruce slowly brought his arms up and hugged her back. He let out a breath like it was all he could do to keep his heart from tumbling out with the air. "You're... We're not broken," Bruce... _Batman_ told her, because Bruce had always tried to be normal. Batman was the one to convince her. "You're never alone."

Bruce looked at Clark as he spoke, and Clark could see the wide blue eyes beneath the white lenses, asking for reassurance. That he was telling the truth. Clark smiled then, because this was the final shove that could finally start putting things to right. Neither of them were under the illusion it would solve everything, but it could start.

There was nothing that needed to be fixed in the dark alley.

The girl finally dried her tears, pulling back slowly. "Sorry," she repeated. "I shouldn't-"

"It's okay," Bruce said. "Is there anywhere we can take you?"

"I-I live right over there," she said, pointing to the apartment building across the street. "Batman, thank you. For saving me."

Bruce held out his hand and she placed hers in his. He held it to his chest for a moment, against the symbol of the Bat that they both wore, then lifted it to kiss gently. "Thank you," he said, letting her go as he melted back into the dark. Clark followed him, though they both stayed until the girl was safely inside.

When Clark caught up to Bruce again, several rooftops away, Bruce was facing Gotham once more. Clark could see his eyes were closed though. Bruce's heart pounded as he tried meditation techniques to calm it. Clark almost couldn't look at him as he calmed, a sense of overwhelming _pride_ and affection for the man overcoming him as though the sun's energy was about to burst from behind his eyelids. Instead, Clark looked at Gotham, the one true love of Bruce's life, slipping his hand into Bruce's fingers.

"You know what this means?" Clark said later, when he could trust his voice.

Bruce breathed out before looking over at him, his eyebrow raised under the cowl. And Clark couldn't help it, beaming back at Bruce strongly enough that he felt like the sun couldn't be brighter. "You really are an _Ace_ detective."

The cowl didn't hide the blush or the disbelieving chuckle it drew from Bruce. "How long have you been waiting to use that?" Bruce asked.

"Too long," Clark said, squeezing Bruce's hand. "It's a quiet night. Let's go back so I can find out what happens on Circe's Island."

Bruce nodded, though he didn't move to leave. Which was okay with Clark, if he was honest. The journey might be long, but the path led always home.

~FIN~

**Author's Note:**

> Mem: So there's the fic. I tend to view Bruce as bi-romantic Ace even outside of this fic, but in this case I kept the romance out of it for the reasons mentioned above. It's honestly probably a stronger story for all of this, but it was still hard to work through. It was supposed to be more Clark-centric too, but ah, well.
> 
> Once again, this is not the place for "Ace Discourse". If you wish to discuss such matters, please find somewhere else to do so. If you're convinced aphobia doesn't exist, please don't comment just to tell me that. 
> 
> Please do let me know what you think of the story otherwise. I didn't write this for revenge, or to shame anyone involved in the original fest this was for. I wrote this because nice people can still really hurt someone when they don't realize what they're saying. Or if they were aware of what they were doing, then I'm writing to make a space for other people like me. Because if it stops someone else from having to go through this, that's enough for me.
> 
> Thank you for reading.


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